


Buy The Stars

by conceptofzero



Category: Fallen London|Echo Bazaar
Genre: F/F, F/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kindness is not a virtue, not in Fallen London. Hester knows this all too well. Sentimentality will cost you everything in this city and only a fool would risk anything for a Rubbery Man stupid enough to let themselves be cornered. But she's a woman who has always learned things the hard way, and this lesson is no exception to that rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are spoilers for Fate-locked content within, notably Flute Street and retrieving your lost soul. There is also a great deal of headcanon-y speculation on Rubbery Men society and biological features. Expect alien genitalia (not tentabulges).

It’s the squealing that makes her stop when she’s half-out the window of a barrister without the common sense to hide his bazaar permits in a safe. 

She knows that sound; for a year, she heard it nearly every night when she tried to fall asleep. The flophouse was a pretty choice spot - gambling games to sit in on, a fence who never asked too many questions about the things Hester brought him, and occasionally a bowl of opium when the nightmares became too much to handle - but the downside was the occasional screaming of some Rubbery Man getting a knife in his guts. 

Hester started keeping a stack of loose cobblestones in her room to throw out the window when the noise became too much. It lead to a few altercations when gambling men took a stone straight to the skull and their Rubbery prey got out with their guts still intact, but she discovered that the easiest way to solve those disputes when they came to visit her was to throw them out the window as well. Hester finally managed to save up and move on to a better set of lodgings, and she hadn’t spared many thoughts for that smokey, stuffy little room or her neighbours since. 

The Rubbery Man’s been stabbed at least once judging by the shrillness of his sounds and the way it makes the base of her spine cold. She can see straight down the alley to a pair of revolutionaries menacing the poor thing. That noise is going to wake up the barrister any moment now, and Hester cannot afford to have the constables after her, not when they’re already keeping an eye on her. 

“-messing up our well! We told you once!” one of the men says, though maybe boy would be more precise since it looks like he’s never had a razor against his throat. The other grunts his agreement, looking more like hired muscle than a philosopher. Hester spots the bloody knife in his hand, and chooses to drop on his head, since he’s the one who might stick it in her next. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself- Eben!” 

Eben hits the cobbles, hard, with Hester’s boots dug into his shoulders and neck, and there’s a snap as she breaks it. Good; she won’t need to worry about him for at least an hour or two, assuming he’s been on the boat often enough to get off of it fast. All there’s left is the first revolutionary, and he’s not so eager to challenge her, dropping his knife and running. She could catch him and put a knife in him, but she’s got limited time here and she’s not about to waste it on him. Let Jack of Smiles catch up with that fellow and take him for a ride. Hester turns her attention to the Rubbery Man. 

It’s hard to tell how badly the Rubber Man’s been hurt. He looks up at Hester, clutching the leaking wound in his battered greatcoat and burbles out what she recognizes as an apology. She’s heard it enough from them when she ‘accidentally’ runs into them while out pickpocketing. His tentacles undulate and quiver, perhaps afraid that Hester will finish what the others started. 

“Can you stand?” she asks him, waiting for an answer. He says nothing, not even making one of those watery sounds his kind usually make. Hester gives him a boost onto his feet and the Rubbery Man manages to stay upright, clear goo oozing over his arms. Hester picks Eben’s pockets and leaves his corpse below the window. If she’s very lucky, the constables will assume his broken neck was from falling, not being fallen on, and he’ll wind up in New Newgate in her place. She heads for the alley, pausing when the Rubbery Man just stands there. “Well? Go on then. Your own kind can patch you up.” 

He warbles at her, takes a few steps, and falls down. Apparently it’s worse than she thought. Hester glances up at the window, cussing when she sees a light come on. Damn and double damned. She quickly gets him onto his feet and all but drags him out of the alleyway, leaving the corpse behind to mask them. 

“Where are your people? Out by that well again?” she asks, hoping perhaps he’s got some way of speaking she’ll understand. Hester gets an answer, but it’s just squeaking and slobbering. She thinks she hears a ‘no’ in that mess, but she might have also heard a ‘yes’ or ‘directions’ or ‘stop thief’. There’s a doctor not too far from here she could dump him off at and hope the doc is willing to stitch him up. Or she could just set him down against a wall somewhere and let him finish bleeding out. 

His legs slip out and his weight sags down on Hester. She’s just about to take that last option when he looks up at her with those sad eyes of his and struggles to dig in his pocket, pulling out a handful of deep amber. Even though he’s bleeding out, he’s trying to pay her. Hester digs her teeth into her lower lip, remembering the last time something inhuman was this close to her. They certainly weren’t offering her anything, unless you counted offering to take. 

“Fine, I’ll sew you up at my place. But you have to be quiet. They don’t like your kind there.” She changes their direction, heading for home. 

The Forgotten Quarter isn’t the safest place to be at this time of night. She can see Devils lurking around, barely bothering to disguise themselves. Hester knows they hunt other humans for sport; she’s seen the trophies mounted where they think no humans ever go. She’s spent enough time digging up relics to know the safest ways through the ruins and she gets them all the way to the Brass Embassy, the windows lit up with firefox candles at this time of night. The Rubbery Man balks at the sight, trying to pull away, but she coaxes him along and into one of the hotel’s more covert entrances. Say what you will about Devils, but at least they know a thing or two about privacy. 

Hester manages to get the Rubbery Man back to her suite without alerting anybody, stopping only to tug on a glove before opening her room with the netherbrass key. She gets him inside, taking one last glance up and down the halls to make sure they’re empty before ducking in after him. 

“Grab a seat in-” She looks around the room, trying to find a spot where he can sit. It’s been awhile since Hester had guests and everything’s covered with bits and bobs she’s yet to finish sorting through. “Nevermind. Get into the kitchen and get your shirt open, I’ll grab something to put you back together with.” 

It takes about an hour to sort out the Rubbery Man’s anatomy. Hester gets that ectoplasmic blood all over her dress and she can only hope it’ll wash out, and the Rubbery Man is useless, mostly squeaking and grunting softly as she tries to find what needs stitching up and what doesn’t. His skin feels weird to the touch, slimey and stretchy, and the fishing line tears through the skin like paper until she switches to tapestry yarn. “Hope you don’t mind purple, but it’s the only colour I’ve got extra of. I’m not usually crafty, at least not this kind of crafty. Never had much use for this stuff. A... friend tried to get me into it, but I am what I am, and what I am isn’t the kind of person to make things.” 

If the Rubbery Man minds her improvisation or her chattering, he doesn’t complain. He’s an odd looking creature underneath the coat, a lot less human without the heavy wool to hide the imperfections. She’s seen them dead now and again, bodies hanging from lamp posts or lying in alleys under tarps, but they’re always dressed, even when dead. Nobody wants to touch them, not even for their boots. He’s even still got his coat buttoned up at the top, and nothing she could say was able to make him take the hat off. 

Not that she blames him; while his greatcoat stinks and she’s certain it isn’t meant to be that colour, what she’s seeing of his torso is enough to make her suspect there are more mysteries he isn’t eager to show her. His hands are more like stumps with little suction cups all the way along the insides, which makes her wonder what exactly his feet would look like if you managed to get his boots away from him. The Rubbery Man’s face is hard to make sense of as well, especially when he’s got himself covered up. His wide eyes are set on either side of his head, and if there’s a mouth under those tentacles, she certainly can’t see one. There definitely isn’t a nose now that she’s close, which would explain why he seems so unaware of how badly his greatcoat stinks. 

In the end, she gets him sorted before he bleeds out. The blood, if you can call it that, is easily wiped up and washed off, and she manages to run a bath for the poor fellow, doing her best to coax him out of his breeches and boots. He’s modest though and won’t get naked in front of her, leaving Hester’s curiosity unsatisfied for the moment. “Fine, just pass your clothes to me through a crack in the door, I won’t peek. Just be careful of the stitches. I don’t know if that yarn shrinks when wet. I’d rather not have it rip you open again. There’s fresh things to wear in the closet, so use those until I sort out the things you wore in. And yes, you do need to give me your dirty clothes, unless you want your blood to crust all over them as well.” 

He barbles out an agreement and shuts the bathroom door, sliding the last of his things through the side of the door. She tries to peek despite her assurances to the contrary but doesn’t see a damn thing. His underwear is among the pile, matted and stained with something green. She wonders if the paper would pay for an article about this, then decides that she’ll shelve that for later, if she really needs the cash. Instead, she dumps it in the wash with her dress and scrubs until the water stops going grey and she finds out the greycoat used to be a sort of tan colour. 

“You should really wash this more often.” She makes conversation, just because it’s better than total silence. Hester gets the response she expected, which is nothing but distant bubbles being blown in the bath. The deep amber she found in his pockets makes its way into her own, a fair price for taking him home and stitching him up and washing his clothes. It’s damn near magnanimous of her, except since there’s no one to see it, it doesn’t actually count. 

It’s only as she pockets the amber that she realizes she never went through Eben’s wallet. She digs it out and paws through it to see what she’s got. There are a few echoes, a couple of fuzzy pictures of girls that may be sisters or sweethearts, and most importantly, there’s a dozen slips of paper with times and locations of future meetings. She knows a few people who would pay very handsomely to see this information disposed off, and at least one Master who would give Hester her weight in netherbrass to see the opposite done. 

Hester’s tucking the slips of paper away when there’s a knock at the door. She glances at the clock and at the bathroom door. It’s too late for visitors to drop by and she’s certainly not expecting anyone. “Just a moment!” Hester shouts out and quickly heads to the bathroom, hissing through the door. “Don’t come out unless I ask you too.” 

No response. Hopefully the Rubbery Man was listening. Because if it’s who Hester thinks it is at the door, she’ll be off to the Tomb Colonies the moment they catch a glimpse of her visitor. Another knock, louder than the first, and an all too familiar voice that makes her stop dead. “Essie, open up.” 

She hasn’t heard from him in months, not since... not since she stopped being of any interest. Hester forces herself to get moving again, throwing on a dressing robe and mussing her hair up. She doesn’t even bother to smile, knowing how fake and strained it will look.

The Affectionate Devil looks like he always does, though she sees he’s updated his clothing to keep with the current trends. It’s been a long time since they crossed paths and she’s angry to see that she still feels all pins and needles around him. He gives her a smoldering grin and invites himself in, Hester feeling a flash of warmth as he walks past her. “I love what you’ve done with the place.” 

“What do you want, Devil?” Her best efforts to keep her voice from going too tense are mostly a failure.

“Devil, am I? Aren’t we closer than that, Essie?” The sound of her real name on his lips rankles her and makes her wish she’d never told it to him. There’s a lot of things she wishes she’d never done with him, but the name is really getting under her skin. 

“We were. Then all of a sudden, you stopped coming around. That sort of thing leaves a person feeling pretty sore.” Hester watches the Affectionate Devil as he walks around her flat, touching things he no longer has a right to touch. She’s torn between following closely behind him, taking things out of his hands, and keeping her distance from him. She can’t see his spirifer's fork, but she knows it must be on him. Devils always have their forks on them. “I’m not interested in a social visit. What do you want?”

“I want a number of things.” He runs his fingers along the edges of a clock she bought from the Bazaar last week, thin trails of smoke running between his flesh and the wooden casing. When he turns and smiles at her, Hester’s heart skips a beat and she hates herself for having any reaction at all. “But I’ll settle for you accompanying me to the theater. I have tickets to the Esteemed Playwright’s latest feature, a lovely little farce about court politics.”

Hester says no. Or, she tells herself to say no. It’s a great deal harder to say no, especially when he walks toward her. He’s just as handsome as ever, and it’s almost like nothing ever happened between them. It all comes rushing back; gas lamps and the glittering of moon-misers far above them while they walked through the park, the way he alway smelt of brimstone and aftershave, the heat of his lips as they hovered by her ear while whispering to her during the Opera, those golden eyes-

They both jump a little when there’s a splashing sound from the bathroom, Hester quickly taking a step back and the Affectionate Devil’s hand retreating from his pocket. She sees the flash of brass there and her jaw sets. 

“Why Essie, you should have told me you had company. The last thing I would ever want to do is interrupt you and your... guest.” The Devil tries to lure her back in, but the moment’s gone, and all his words feel insincere instead of inviting. Hester keeps their distance, stepping back and then to the side to prevent herself from being trapped between him and a wall. The Devil’s smile never slips, but his eyes aren’t so friendly anymore. “Who is it in the bathroom then? Your artist friend? Or that model you were so keen on?” 

“Get out.” She doesn’t bother with politeness. Politeness is for people who have earned it, or who at least don’t mean to hurt you. Devils always want to hurt you, one way or another, and they’ll always remind you of that if you give them time.

The Affectionate Devil laughs, and closes the distance between him and the bathroom door, throwing it open. She expects a lot of things, but she’s not prepared for the way he recoils from the sight of the Rubbery Man, dripping wet and wrapped in her towel. Hester doesn’t recoil, but only because she’s seen much worse, though not much weirder. She had no idea that their heads really looked like that when you took the top hat off and they didn’t have a high collar to hide those extra face tentacles in. But she’s more interested in the Devil’s response, particularly in the way he can’t put enough space between him and the Rubbery Man. She’s never known them to fear much of anything, not even the Church. 

Fear may not be right though, not when she sees his lips curl into a sneer, his fangs glittering by the fire light. Disgust may be more appropriate. Or maybe just plain hatred. The Rubbery Man doesn’t seem too pleased by the Devil either, choosing to stand in the washroom and warble unpleasantly. The Affectionate Devil finally tears his eyes away from the Rubbery Man to stare at Hester, all false charm gone from his voice. “What is that thing doing here?” 

“He’s my guest you were so eager to meet. Why don’t you sit down with us? I’m sure we could find a few parlor games to play together.” She shouldn’t taunt, but she does, delighted to finally see the tables turned. Hester even manages to smile, though it’s not the same easy expression the Devil conjured when he came in. “Or we could all go to that play. I’m sure you could find a third ticket easily enough.” 

“Enough.” He snarls, and Hester wonders why she ever mistook the Affectionate Devil for a man. Maybe it was easier to make that mistake when there wasn’t another monster in the room to bring out the beast. “Keep your poor company. I’ll come by when you’ve gotten tired of smelling like a fishmonger.” 

He stalks out of the room, though he doesn’t even have the decency to slam the door or to stick around long enough for Hester to come up with some cutting remark about preferring one kind of monger to another. It’ll come to her later, when cleverness isn’t necessary. “Asshole.”

The Rubbery Man squeals out something that Hester is fairly certain means “rude”, since she hears that a lot when ‘accidentally’ bumping into them during pickpocket practice. She glances back over to him, this time aware of the bits of him poking out of the towel that don’t match up with what humans have. The Rubbery Man picks up pretty quickly that she’s staring and this time, she’s absolutely certain that sound means “rude”, since he shuts the door on her soon after. 

Hester locks the front door and sighs. She’s had enough of visitors for one night. Hester leans against the wall, and all she can hear is the sound of her clocks ticking. Sometimes she loves the privacy of the rooms in the Brass Embassy and the knowledge that her neighbours can’t hear her, but on a night like tonight, it just makes her paranoia worse. Not for the first time, she regrets her choice of lodgings. It had seemed like such a good idea so many months ago, long before she soured on Devils entirely. 

There have been too many nights when Hester found herself unable to sleep, afraid that some Devil would try their luck and give her the ‘gift’ of Abstraction while she was unable to stop them. Maybe she should have sought a room elsewhere, either the Royal Bethlehem or the Bazaar, but madness can be contagious and the Bazaar had too many people, and it had been too easy to let herself believe it was best to live among friends. 

Some friends they’d turned out to be. 

She’s shaken out of her righteous sulk when the Rubbery Man exits the bathroom, dressed in the spare clothes she turned up for him. He looks right at home in that workman’s suit and Hester can’t help but smile a little when she realizes the sounds he’s trying to make are ‘thank you’ in proper English. Bless him, he can’t speak it any more than she can speak his language, but trying does mean something. 

Hester’s never given much thought to what Rubbery Men looked like without their hats, but she’s fascinated by how it comes up into a sort of point with a dark green fin running along the edge. He reminds her of the squid they sell down at the docks now and again, especially with his tentacles lying flat on his suit. There’s something she’s never noticed before near the back of his head, like a strange sort of nose, and only when he makes a displeased sound does she realize she’s looking at how he speaks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. You’re just... oh, you know how you look. But you don’t look so pale, so I suppose that means you won’t die.” She’s about to offer him the couch to sleep on, fully planning on seeing him out in the morning, when she changes her mind. Hester’s still thinking of the look in the Affectionate Devil’s eye when he saw the Rubbery Man and the way he recoiled from not just him, but her as well. “Do you enjoy sardines? I think I have a few tins.” 

Not surprisingly, he does enjoy sardines, and her spare goldfish, and even some dried rubbery lumps, though she would have thought he would find those distasteful. He eats it all like he hasn’t had anything in days and thanks her all the while. For someone with a face full of tentacles, he’s fairly clean, and she marvels at how he doesn’t end up with even so much as a scale stuck in them. They quickly slip in and out of his mouth, which she can only get a slight glimpse of now and again when he sucks one tendril in, giving her the impression of something toothless but full of ridges. 

It’s a good distraction, but it doesn’t entirely turn her thoughts away from what’s really on her mind, which is how she can use the Rubbery Man to her advantage. It’s not like she’s planning to rob him and kill him; she already had the chance to do that and didn’t. But she didn’t get where she is by not taking opportunities when they arise. For months, she’s been doing her best to hurt the Devils in any way she can, either by robbing their warehouses or helping out with the Church when they come to call, but it’s not enough. She doesn’t just want to steal a crate or two here and there; she wants to steal the whole shipment. She wants to see them hurting. She wants to shake Hell itself and send all its little agents out of their minds trying to solve that mystery. 

Hester can’t do it alone though, and she can’t risk bringing just anyone into her plans, not when Hell can pay more than any heist she can dream of would net. Even if she could find someone who couldn’t be bought, they would have someone they could get ahold of - loved ones, family, friends, something.

But what do Rubbery Men have? This one doesn’t seem to have much of anything on him except a little amber. He also offers her an advantage that no human alive or dead has given her so far: something that even the Devils are afraid of. Everyone knows they think the Church is a joke — except for the Church that is — but that was genuine revulsion from the Affectionate Devil, and she’s never seen Devils interact with Rubbery Men at all. It’s as if they do their best to be anywhere but around Rubbery Men. 

She wouldn’t be able to tell him what she’s doing, not at first anyway. Hester would need to make sure this Rubbery Man can’t be bought and sold, that he’s truly unattached from everything else. But if he is, he may be just what she’s been looking for. 

As well, as much as she hates to admit it, it would be easier to sleep with him around. He’d scare any Devil who tried to come in here and give her time to wake up and guard herself. 

“You know, you can stay here until you’re all healed up. I’ll make up the spare room, assuming you sleep in a bed. Then I can keep an eye on that wound and make sure it heals, and I can pull that yarn out when you’re all sealed up,” Hester says, finding the thin line between an attractive offer and a suspicious one. The spare room is lovely, but it’s also nearest the window and hopefully the most tempting to anyone who enters. Of course, someone still might enter her room, but this cuts the chance of someone choosing her bedroom first in half, and doubles her chances of someone waking. “It’s the least I could do.” 

If someone made this offer to Hester, she would be out the window in a second. She knows full well that there’s no such thing as the kindness of strangers in this city. The Rubbery Man doesn’t though, and he’s all too eager to agree to it, gesturing to his drying coat and saying something about the amber. She assumes he’s trying to pay her again, and this time she takes it with a nod. 

“Sure, sure, that’s fine with me. I’ll go make up the room. You can help me and we’ll get it the way you like.” Hester motions for him to follow her, already thinking about ways to put him to the test. The Rubbery Man follows, clearly too grateful to question any of her motives.


	2. Chapter 2

The Rubbery Man settles in quickly, which is really no surprise to Hester. Wherever he was staying before can’t have been as nice as Hester’s home, and she would take the chance to live somewhere nice rather than go back to some cramped room with a leaky roof and a fifty-fifty chance of someone dragging you out of it and hanging you from a lamp post. He’s not bad to live with once you get used to how he looks and how he smells, and the way he hogs the bathroom. 

For all his downsides, he’s a clean and helpful chap, always there with an extra tentacle to lend toward washing dishes or laundry, or just helping Hester tally up her hauls at the end of the day. If he’s got a problem with her profession, he doesn’t mention it. Thieving is a great way to make ends meet, assuming you’re good enough that the constables aren’t constantly knocking down your door to drag you off to New Newgate. 

As soon as she’s sure he’s not about to have a case of the morals over her profession, she gets him involved as a decoy. The Rubbery Man is less fine with this, and he lets her know that in somewhat uncertain terms. Hester’s been picking up more of his language since they started living together, and it’s times like this when she wishes she could still play ignorant of what he’s saying. 

“I’m not asking you to do anything except walk over there and be yourself. That’s all. The coppers won’t arrest you for being naturally distracting.” She’s doing her best to talk him up while also keeping an eye on the bohemians sprawled out in various seats in front of the cafe. They’ve been flashing around a wad of echoes that she’d be more than pleased to liberate, but she needs those idiots to be distracted enough to spend five minutes without ordering drinks so she can be gone by the time they realize the money’s up and left too. 

He protests that the constables aren’t exactly known for being fair when it comes to arresting people. And plenty of them aren’t too fond of Rubbery Men either. Hester manages to bottle up her eye-rolls and heavy sighs as he grumps on and on about their rudeness. 

“Well if I see any cops, I’ll raise the alarm and get you out of there. But I won’t have to because all you need to do is make them stare at you for long enough for me to get my hands on those echoes. Now go on, this money is going to help you as much as it is me.” She gives him a none-too-gentle shove out of the alleyway and heads around the other side before he can drag his feet any longer. 

Hester gets into position by a nearby stall, standing in line and watching as the Rubbery Man does anything but what she told him to. She’s taught Clay Men to catch cats though, so she can teach a Rubbery Man to do something as simple as just being a distraction. When he’s not quick enough, she picks up a small piece of cobblestone and covertly tosses it in his direction, careful not to hit him, but close enough that the sound draws attention. He’s a bit on edge and quickly darts back from the sound of the stone near his feet, promptly falling into one of the cafe’s tables. 

She quickly looks away, turning her attention back to the line and to the rows of slightly stale bread and days old pies sitting on the shelf. They’re as fresh as they can be when they’ve come from the surface, and they cost far more than they ever did up there. But surface food is worth every penny, and she purchases a small cherry pie while the bohemians get the Rubbery Man back on his feet. Hester can see them out of the corner of her eye, and if there’s danger, she can rush in to help him, but she knows she won’t need to. They’re a safe group to send the Rubbery Men around. None of them look terribly pleased to see him, but they’re not all that violent. Most of them are too addled on prisoner’s honey to do real damage even if they tried. 

He warbles out apologies, stumbling back toward the alleyway. The bohemians stare and don’t even notice when Hester passes behind them, her fingers lifting the thick wallet from the coat pocket of a dandy and slipping it into her jacket. She keeps walking by, making for the alleyway at a steady pace before they notice what’s gone.

The Rubbery Man waits for her, so agitated that she can barely make out what he’s saying to her. She shushes him and takes hold of his arm, pulling him along with her. “See? I told you it was simple business. You didn’t have to get your hands dirty, metaphorically speaking of course. Do you like cherries?”

He does not and refuses to even try some when she offers her a bright red blob of cherry and goop after digging a finger in the pie. She pops it in her own mouth and savours the taste, ignoring how he complains about how unnecessarily dangerous it was. Hester knows she should take her time with the pie and make it last, but it’s too good to resist pulling more filling out of with her fingers. It’s astounding how good it tastes. 

“Mmm, you’re missing out you know.” She licks her finger clean, stopping to lean against the wall as he keeps protesting. “And it was worth it. You’ve been complaining about needing to get into the amber trade again. You can buy plenty of it with echoes. Pretty easy money for pretty easy work.” 

That does seem to calm him somewhat, at least enough so he no longer sounds like a waterfall during the winter melt. She offers him another cherry, waggling the finger at him, and this time he gingerly accepts, picking it off of her finger with an upper tentacle and slipping it under his collar and into his mouth. He spits it up a moment later; apparently Rubbery Men don’t like cherries. 

Hester just shrugs, breaking off bits of the crust and dipping it into the filling. “Why do you trade amber anyway? A little birdy one told me that your people buy back your own amber all the time. Why’d you do that? Why not just keep it?” 

He warbles out an explanation that Hester can barely follow, and that she suspects he may be not telling her everything either, but what she gathers is that something about people handling the amber makes it more valuable than just having it sit on its own. It’s just how money works - the more hands it passes through, the more people want it. They must be making money somewhere along the line to make trading worthwhile. 

She finishes the pie by the time they end up at the carnival, getting rid of the tin before they follow the crowd in. The place is decently busy and Hester gets to work, fingers slipping into pockets as she passes groups of people and coming up with moon pearls and the occasional item worth pawning. She steals a handsome ratwork watch and ends up tucking it in the Rubbery Man’s pocket. “There you are, that’ll make you look like a gentleman. Just don’t go flashing it around the wrong people or they’ll gut you for it.” 

The Rubbery Man twitches his tentacles, telling Hester that he’s had people try to hurt him over far less than a watch. She thinks of all those Rubbery Men she heard screaming in the alleyway beneath her bedroom at the Tower of Knives. It never seemed to take much to spur those on, just high spirits and a little boredom. 

“Well don’t give them any more reasons to.” She stops by a ticket machine, filling the slot with her ill-gotten moon pearls in exchange for tickets. The first thing she does is swap those tickets for two orders of rubbery lumps currently staining yesterday’s newspaper and a chunk of spore-toffee the size of her fist wrapped up in wax paper. She offers the Rubbery Man one of the orders of lumps, pausing as it occurs to her that rubbery is in both of their names. “This stuff isn’t made from you fellas, is it?” 

He shakes his head no; his flesh is inedible, no matter how much you fry it. The Rubbery Man takes the bundle of newspaper from her and carefully eats the lumps. Hester’s a little less delicate, popping them into her mouth and savouring the wonderful crunch and the chewy greasy texture. 

“Never much liked seafood before I came down here. Never had good stuff, mind you, so that’s why I like it now. Hardly any taste to it but the grease, but that’s why it’s so damn good.” She slips another into her mouth, wishing she had a little water to wash it down with. There was wine back at the stand but she’s working right now and getting drunk is a bad idea. 

Hester walks the Rubbery Man around the carnival. He’s not as much of a distraction here, not when there are so many others in the crowd. With each one he encounters, the Rubbery Man stops to talk with them. The conversations are quick, and they give Hester a chance to step away from him and pick a few pockets before returning in time for goodbyes. With each one, the Rubbery Men reach out and twist their arms around one another in a way that she’s certain would break bones if they had any. It’s like a handshake without hands. 

“Did you always shake your arms like that, or did you learn it after you came here?” She asks the Rubbery Man as they walk away. Her pockets are heavy with moon pearls and her rubbery lumps are nearly done. Hester eats the last few quickly, wiping her fingers on the newsprint until they’re stained black with smeared ink. 

The answer makes no sense at all, and Hester just ends up confused as the Rubbery Man goes on about things before and changed shapes. She ends up cutting him off, shaking her head. “Just yes or no, don’t tell me more than I need to know.”

No, he finally says, they didn’t always shake their arms like that. 

“That’s all you have to say. Don’t go giving more than a person needs, especially when I can’t understand about a third of the things you say. You keep using the same words in different sentences and it takes me time to figure out if you’re talking about a window or a door.” She unwraps the chunk of spore toffee and takes a bite out of the ball. Hester offers him some but he just waves it away, pointing to his half-finished lumps. She shrugs and chews, wrapping the rest up and putting it back in her pocket. 

The Rubbery Man burbles at her, pointing to his face, and he repeats the word again and again, twitching his tentacles. It takes her longer than she’d like to admit to realize that he’s not just randomly twitching his tentacles at her. Hester feels an irrational flash of anger that fades into embarrassment; she’s a master thief, she should have realized that ages ago. It’s nobody’s fault but her own for just assuming there was something wrong with their language rather than maybe thinking she was missing something vital. 

She swallows the toffee and takes a moment to clear her throat so she doesn’t stumble over her worlds halfway through. “You know it would have been easier if you’d let me know that earlier-”

Hester’s voice dies in her throat when she spots an all too familiar face in the crowd. The Quiet Deviless looks as she always does, mouth fixed in a mirthful pout that Hester once thought darling, but now she finds petulant. There’s a boy beside her, young and eager to impress. He’s trying to coax a smile out of her and even before she responds, Hester knows exactly how she’ll do it. The Deviless quirks her lips and then covers the smile with her hand, fixing her yellow eyes on him. How can’t he see she’s playing him like a fiddle? 

She doesn’t realize she’s starting toward them until the Rubbery Man wraps his arm around hers, tugging her back. He’s agitated, telling her that they’ve already drawn too much attention for one day. The Rubbery Man is right; it won’t be long before someone fetches the constables and they start combing the crowd for someone to blame. She should just leave now and pretend that she didn’t see the Quiet Deviless or her latest victim. 

Hester’s never been very good at knowing when to leave or give it up. It cost her the life she had on the Surface. It’s responsible for half the scars on her body. If there was ever a time when she would change, it’s long since passed. She keeps walking toward the Deviless, forcing the Rubbery Man to either come along or let her go. 

He lets go but keeps following close behind her. The Deviless doesn’t see Hester until she’s right in front of her, and then that carefully cultivated air of melancholy slips for a second. “Essie-”

“Don’t you dare,” she snarls at the Quiet Deviless. That name was given to her in confidence. “You lost the right to that name.” 

“I apologize.” She’s recovered, looking for all the world like something beautiful and fragile and in need of protecting. It’s a lie; the only person who needs protecting is the concerned looking man turning away from one of the game stalls. The Quiet Deviless must be used to these sorts of confrontations because she turns to the boy. “John, will you give us a moment? Only a second.” 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you alone.” Hester grabs hold of Henry’s arm, squeezing it hard. “Hey, what are you-”

“She’s a liar. She doesn’t care about you. It’s all an act. All she wants is your soul-” She prods John’s chest hard enough to leave a bruise. “-and when she has it, she’ll throw you away like a dirty rag-”

The Deviless’ hand is like a hot branding iron as it touches her wrist. Hester lets go of John and jerks back to get away from the burning touch of her fingers. The Quiet Deviless turns to the boy and lays it on thick. “She won’t hurt me. Please John, I need to speak with the Adroit Sneakthief alone. I owe her an apology.” 

“You owe me a lot more than an apology!” Hester keeps her distance from the Deviless, keeping the burnt arm close to her body. She knows she’s making a scene and she shouldn’t, but it’s been months since she last saw the Quiet Deviless and all those wounds she left on Hester’s heart are wide open. “You used me!” 

The Quiet Deviless waits until John’s stepped out of earshot before speaking, and she barely raises her voice when she speaks, hands clasped in front of her. “How can you say such a thing? I never asked you for anything you weren’t willing to give.”

This isn’t the reaction Hester wanted. She feels off-balance, trying to regain her footing. “You certainly took something that wasn’t yours!” 

The Deviless steps toward Hester and she quickly steps back, still remembering her encounter with the Affectionate Devil. She ends up stepping right into the Rubbery Man who manages not to fall over. The Quiet Deviless glances at the Rubbery Man and for just a second, her eyes narrow. She turns her gaze back to Hester, those yellow eyes wide and yearning. “Adroit Sneakthief, I wronged you. Let me make amends. Join me tomorrow evening for tea. We can speak about my intentions over those biscuits you always enjoy-” 

The Rubbery Man squalls, stepping around Hester and planting himself between her and the Deviless. She blinks and feels woozy, a little shocked to find that she just stood there and let the Quiet Deviless go on. Hester should have never made eye-contact with her, never. It was a rookie mistake. 

While Hester clears her head, the Rubbery Man and the Quiet Deviless have a discussion of their own. He’s talking quickly to her, going so fast that she has some serious trouble following the conversation. Hester picks up pieces here and there, and most of what he’s saying seems to be strongly demanding that the Deviless leave before she causes any more of a scene. 

While the Quiet Deviless never blinked an eye while dealing with Hester, there’s an unpleasant look taking hold of her features, turning what was sadness into thinly veiled disgust. “I wasn’t the one who caused a scene, but of course I’ll leave. Adroit Sneakthief, if you ever wish to speak again, you know how to find me. If you do come, don’t bring this thing.” 

The Deviless turns her back on Hester, and the Rubbery Man grabs hold of Hester’s arm, dragging her in the opposite direction. She wants to shout, but a flash of blue and those unmistakable helmets keeps Hester’s trap shut, all too aware that her pockets are loaded with ill-gotten gains that the constables will be more than happy to paw through.

They duck into one of the ragged tiny tents that dot the edge of the carnival. It takes her eyes a moment to adjust, and when they do, she sees half a dozen Rubbery Men sitting around a musical donkey. It’s a cheap clockwork toy, honking and shaking hard enough to make the tamborines on its flanks rattle and the drums thunk loudly. The Rubbery Men are taken with it, and her own companion drags her close, getting her seated along with them. He motions for Hester to duck down and she does, just seconds before the constables look inside. 

She does her best to peek around the Rubbery Men’s legs, watching as the constables half-heartedly scan around before letting the tent flap fall shut, as if being around the Rubbery Men any longer than they must is a dreadful inconvenience. Hester pokes her head back up and the musical donkey finishes with a cacophony. The Rubbery Men gurgle loudly in what she half-recognizes as applause. One of them begins to wind the key to start over while the others chat. 

It takes her a moment to find her own Rubbery Man in such a large group. They’re all dressed more or less the same; greatcoats, top hats, and shabby suits of workman’s clothing with plain boots. For the first time, she wonders if they’re all given nearly identical sets when they arrive in London from wherever they first come from. She knows her own because he’s cleaner than the rest and she helped patch that hole in his jacket up. Hester takes hold of his tentacle, tugging him away from the group. “Let’s go.” 

He burbles out an agreement and they duck out the exit and past the carnival grounds, back to the tenement housing that makes up most of Spite. It’s been awhile since she’s been here. Hester cut her teeth on the streets of Spite, learning the art of light fingers to feed herself and buy something to wear that wasn’t the rags they gave you at New Newgate. She can see the urchins watching from the rooftops, looking for easy targets, and the young thieves still learning their trade the hard way. 

Spite’s very presence is calming to her, and that’s the only reason she’s able to stay even slightly composed after what happened at the carnival. The last time she saw the Deviless, she... damn her for what she did. Damn her and her spirifer's fork. She touches the scar on her wrist, her forearm throbbing. 

The Rubbery Man draws her out of her thoughts, carefully touching the burns on her arm. Oh right, those. She looks at them and grimaces. “Damnit. Good thing I just bought that case of Vigours, or I’d have to go all the way down to the Bazaar.” 

He just wraps his tentacle around her arm, covering the burns. She expects it to hurt, but his body temperature is lower than hers and it feels rather like running cool water over her arm. Heater gives a relieved sigh, quickly covering it with an awkward chuckle. 

“Well, if more people knew you could do that, I suppose you’d be better liked,” she tries to joke. Hester’s still angry, but she can’t afford to be. She blew her top back there when all the cards were stacked against her and it’s a wonder she got out without falling right back into that she-devil’s traps. The Rubbery Man’s the reason she’s here in Spite, with only minor burns to worry about. 

She thinks back to the tent and frowns. If she hadn’t known his clothes so well, she would have never been able to find him. “Do you fellows have individual names? Or at least some sort of name that I can say without spitting everywhere?” She quickly adds that last bit before he can spew out a rush of syllables that no human could ever pronounce. 

His tentacles are quirked in a manner that she’s starting to recognize as something akin to a smirk. No, he burbles out, they don’t have names that she can pronounce. They don’t need names like how she thinks of them, and when they do have names, they’re chosen by others. She can feel free to choose a name if she finds it useful. 

“Oh. I suppose I should then, in case I lose you in the crowd again.” She taps her fingers against his cold flesh, head ticking back and forth a little as she tries to find something suitable. “How about... the Ogdoadly Assistant?” 

The displeased position his tentacles reach makes Hester laugh and she has to press her face into her sleeve to force herself to stop. With her head like that, she notices others staring at them, some curiously, some with open disgust on their faces. It’s a sobering bucket of water thrown on her as she remembers her reputation and how she can’t afford the scandal of being mistaking for a deviant in public. 

“You need to let go of my arm,” she says softly, and the Rubbery Man does immediately, looking a little confused but not asking for an explanation. The heat from the burns returns almost immediately and so does the pain. Hester does her best to ignore it, her voice perhaps a bit too forced and bright. “You don’t like that then? What about the Gallant Inkfish?” 

He’s not sold on ‘inkfish’, but even he admits that gallant is nice, if not particularly true. Hester resists the urge to take his ‘hand’ and tell him that he is gallant, or at least he was today. They’re still being watched, even if it is only Spite. 

“Then it’s settled. Let’s go home, Inkfish.” Hester grins as he rolls his eyes at her and they head off towards the Brass Embassy, her arm softly throbbing all the way.


	3. Chapter 3

Once her anger fades and embarrassment takes over, Hester spends the next few weeks plotting out her revenge. It’s a favorite topic of hers, and while her hands are busy doing chores or dipping into other people’s pockets, she daydreams up various ways to hurt those who hurt her. They range from the practical (a little breaking and entering in a certain Deviless’ chambers) to the ludicrous (throwing a bucket of water on her and just watching it all steam away) to the downright impossible (robbing the Brass Embassy right under their noses). 

The Gallant Inkfish tends to be the one who draws her out of her revenge fantasies, either by teaching her a little more of his language or asking her to teach him some basic human things. Rubbery Men don’t cook, so Hester teaches him the basics of it, just in case he needs to. Sometimes she comes home and finds he’s made dinner for her, though it’s never very good. He’s too used to raw things to not leave everything just a little undercooked. It’s easy enough for Hester to throw it back on the stove and finish it up, so her melt’s nice and piping hot while he eats the little cave fish she finds down at the market, slipping them into his mouth while they’re still wiggling. 

His language is hell to learn and the only reason Hester bothers is that it’s hard living with someone when you don’t always understand them. Inkfish isn’t nearly as shy as she thought he was when she first met him. There’s a lot of deadpan humour in what he says that gets lost if you don’t know how to read tentacle positions, and something that’s almost sarcasm, but without some of the malice that usually comes with it. He’s a good person though, and popular with other Rubbery Men, who always stop to chat with him on the street. They don’t seem to mind that Hester’s learning their language, which she would have thought wouldn’t make them too happy. 

She asks Inkfish about that one afternoon when she’s going over that day’s haul. The two dozen wallets and billfolds have been quickly emptied and their contents sorted into appropriate categories, with cash being the first and most important. As she counts coins, she raises her voice so he can hear her from the washroom. “Why don’t your people mind that I can understand ‘em? I would have thought they’d want to keep all their chattering private from people like me.” 

He rumbles with amusement and comes out, his tentacles undulating as he laughs. Inkflsh takes a seat beside her, resting his arms on his legs. He tells her that they don’t mind because they have no secrets worth selling. The rest of Fallen London cares very little for them, and even if they were told what the Rubbery Men were interested in, they would find it either harmless or beyond understanding. They’re barely a faction after all, more like the Clay Men than the Devils, and they have no interest in ruling this place. If they did, they wouldn’t have picked this shape to do it in. 

“That’s true, you’ve put yourself at a real disadvantage with going with the two legs design.” Hester still only half-understands what he means when he talks about choosing shapes, but what she gets is that whatever his species originally was, it wasn’t shaped like people are. They’ve done things to be more like humans, though they aren’t entirely there. If they’d wanted to rule London, they’d be better off being mighty monsters than mostly silent, clumsy folks. “But still, the papers would pay for stories.” 

They already do, Inkfish points out, and most of those stories are lies. How do you sort truth from fiction when there’s so much more of the latter than the former? They aren’t going to teach every human how to understand them, especially not the ones who kill for fun, but a friend to Rubbery Men is free to learn all they want. Inkfish leans back into the chair, letting his eyes close. He’s tired and he’s going to nap a little, but Hester can feel free to keep talking. He’ll hear her. 

“Oh I’m sure you will, what with resting your eyes and all.” She scoffs and slides off her place on the couch to sit cross-legged on the floor as she starts counting the glim. It’s easier if you’re closer to it, since it’s hard to pick the individual pieces out from even half a foot away, and easier to cut yourself on those sharp edges. “Just don’t be surprised if you wake up and you’ve agreed to do something you don’t remember agreeing to.” 

He waggles his mustache tentacles at her and then lets them drop. Hester hides her grin out of habit, ducking her head down and going back to work. The carpet is comfortable and the room is pleasantly quiet, only the quiet sound of snoring from Inkfish to break the silence. She counts her glim and slides it into a pouch, then moves on to the pile of plain papers waiting for secrets to be written on them. Hester thinks that perhaps it would be nice if she were to get a pet for her and Inkfish. Maybe a Salt Weasel, if she can get her hands on one, or maybe a fairly tame Sorrow-Spider. They sell those down at the Bazaar all the time and they’re not all that expensive. 

The knock at the door shakes her out of her thoughts. It startles Inkfish as well and he quickly stands, glancing at her. Hester rarely has visitors and the ones that drop by usually make appointments with her. She grabs her Ratwork Derringer from its place on her mantel and tucks it into one of the many pockets on her skirt so she can grab it if she must. Hester approaches the door and peeks out through the peephole. 

It’s the young man from the carnival, John, the Deviless’ companion. There’s a dull sheen to his eyes that she recognizes all too well. Hester sighs and opens the door. “I suppose you’re looking for her? Not in her chambers, was she?” 

John nods. He looks a little greyer than he did at the festival. That’ll wear off in time. “I can’t get a hold of her. She’s never spent this long away from me. Is she in danger, or-”

“She’s fine. It’s just that she doesn’t need you anymore.” Hester picks up his arm and pushes his sleeve down, revealing the newly healed scar there against the vena amori. She taps it and he looks away, all too aware of what it means. “I told you. Sorry to be unkind, but I did.” 

“You did,” he agrees, though the look he gives her is anything but agreeable. Hester doesn’t blame him. She wasn’t exactly pleased when she got the news herself. 

“Well, come inside. I’ll make tea and we’ll talk options.” She opens the door wider and he steps inside. Hester shuts it and locks it, just in case some devil overhears and decides to try invite themselves into her suite. “Take a seat, I’ll put the kettle on.” 

No, I’ll do it, Inkfish burbles. He raises an arm to John as a greeting and heads into the kitchen.

John stares at him before glancing at Hester. It’s hard to muster strong feelings when you’re soulless, but he manages to find a little outrage in him “Are you sleeping with that thing?” 

“Urg, you’re disgusting. He’s my friend, nothing more.” She makes a face, though truth be told, she’s not nearly as disgusted as John is. Inkfish isn’t all that different from people, not once you see past his skin. He’s just a man, and a more decent one than most. That being said, the thought of taking him to bed is right out. They probably wouldn’t even be compatible, not when he’s all tentacles everywhere she can see. “Now sit down, tell me what happened.” 

John’s story is Hester’s story, inside and out. The Quiet Deviless asked to speak with him in private on the subject of Abstraction. It wasn’t the first time she’d brought the topic to his attention, and each time he’d emerged safely with a pair of diamonds and feeling more excited than he could have imagined. Except this time, he didn’t catch her in time and when he awoke, his soul was gone and a contract was waiting for him. 

Inkfish returns with tea by this point in the story, and over finely brewed honey-spore tea, John stumbles through the days after he lost his soul. “I waited for her to come by again, but she never did. I got up the courage to visit her apartment but she was gone. The landlord said she’d packed up the night she visited me and left without even collecting her deposit. I didn’t even want my soul back, I just wanted to see her...” 

“She won’t see you anymore. All she wanted was your soul, and now she’s got it. I know it hurts to hear this, but it’s the truth.” Hester isn’t as good at this as she wishes she were, but she does her best, remembering her own heartache like it was yesterday. “All you can do now is decide if you want it back or not. I know a few people who could help you find your soul, if it’s on the market. You could also move on without it if you’d like. But no matter what you choose, you won’t get her back.” 

John hasn’t drank much of his tea, just turning it around in his hands. Inkfish isn’t having any either, but he’s not a fan of tea, or any hot liquid actually. Looks like she’ll have to drink this whole pot herself or let it go to waste. She has another sip of tea and waits for John to make up his mind. 

“What did you choose?” he finally asks, setting his teacup down. His eyes are empty. If he doesn’t get his soul back, he’ll learn to fake it so ordinary people don’t notice. But the soulless always know that look. You never forget it after you’ve seen it in the mirror. 

“I tracked mine back down. I couldn’t stand life without it.” She turns her arm over and shows him her own scar, now so faded it can barely be seen unless she points it out. “Like I said, I know a few people who can help. You’ll need to bring your contract to them, and then they’ll find the Deviless and see if she’s already sold your soul, and to who if she has.” 

John looks at the scar on her arm for a long while, and then shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can I think about it?”

“Sure. Take all the time you need. Go here if you want to talk to someone about finding it.” She grabs a slip of paper and writes down the location of St. Vincent de Paul. “The Reverend there is a good man. Even if you don’t get you soul back, he can introduce you to other people who can help you get used to the idea.” 

He takes it and puts it in his pocket before standing. Hester sees him out, feeling mostly sorry for him. He should have listened to her. But then again, Hester should have listened to the others who spoke to her back in the day. When you’re in love, it’s hard to see that the person you’re crazy for isn’t good for you. 

“Try not to dwell on her. Go find something to take your mind off of her while you’re deciding on your soul,” Hester tells John, hoping that maybe her words aren’t falling on deaf ears. He nods and heads out, looking as melancholy as he did when he walked in. Hester leans in the doorway, just watching him go. 

Inkfish joins her, burbling quietly. He says that he thought maybe that’s what happened to her, but he wasn’t sure if it was polite to ask. 

“It wasn’t polite, so you did the right thing. But yeah... that’s what happened to me. It’s what happens to a lot of us. Devils look human enough that you easily forget that they aren’t...” Hester shrugs, mostly just to keep from wallowing. “But they’re bastards is all. If he’s lucky, his soul won’t have gone too far by now.” 

The door beside hers opens and Hester’s idle glance over turns into a stare as she realizes who it is. The Quiet Deviless locks her door behind her, turning and giving Hester a smile. “Adroit Sneakthief, what a surprise to see you. I had no idea you were in the room beside mine. And is that the same Rubbery Man-” 

Hester shoves Inkfish inside and slams her door shut, quickly locking it. For good measure, she shoves a chair under the doorknob. There’s a knocking at her door that she definitely does not answer, heading straightaway to the table and grabbing the tea. It goes out the window and Hester replaces it with wine, helping herself to a glass to calm her nerves. The Deviless is right beside Hester’s room. 

Inkfish does his best to calm her, setting an arm over her shoulders and whispering to her in his babbling brook of a language. It’s fine, she can’t make a move in the Embassy. The Devils hate being embroiled in scandals, they draw too much attention. She’ll be gone soon enough too. If she’s taking souls like that, she won’t dare operate where she could be easily caught and sent back to the Iron Republic. A few weeks and she’ll be gone again, back in an apartment where she can once again part souls from humans. 

Hester finds herself leaning against him, even if he is a little cold and kind of grotesque. She thinks of John’s reaction and settles her head on Inkfish’s shoulder. What the hell does he know anyway? He let a Deviless take his soul. Inkfish hasn’t taken anything from Hester. He’s a good friend. 

“You better be right,” she finally says, straightening up and grabbing her glass of wine. “Because if I have to put up with her, I’ll lose my mind.” 

He burbles softly, assuring her that she won’t. They end up back in the living room, Inkfish sitting on the floor with her and helping Hester pick the names off the billfolds so she can sell them at the market.


	4. Chapter 4

The Deviless isn’t in a rush to leave. Hester takes to leaving through her window to avoid the awkward hallway confrontations where she always remains friendly and inviting no matter how much Hester ignores or snarls at her. Inkfish is reluctant to leave at all, paying Hester to do some of his duties. 

For a woman who goes by Sneakthief, Hester doesn’t get much chance to do the thieving part. The Rubbery Men are honest to a fault and she finds it hard to cheat them, especially when they seem more than happy to part with the amber. The amber trade is an odd one and it mostly requires Hester to shuffle bags of amber here and there, and even on one occasion, to hand it out to a bunch of urchins. She makes a game of it and has the grubby-handed little things work for it, since they certainly don’t respect anyone who just gives them something. 

It pays well though, and the Rubbery Men seem pleased to have someone who can understand them. She ends up getting paid to give a few lessons in etiquette, which mostly boil down to her telling them that if you have enough money, society will overlook most of your faux-pas, and that they should do their best to stay out of the morass of alliances and feuds between London’s various factions to keep their trading prospects as open as possible. 

Still though, this isn’t what she wants from life. If she wanted to be a trader, she’d be a trader. Helping Inkfish out is fine, but what she really wants is for the Deviless to leave so Hester can be at peace again. 

She says as much to Inkfish when she returns home one day, shoving a bag of deep amber into the window before following it inside. Inkfish is there to help her in, and to offer her some biscuits once she’s settled. “I’d put a bucket full of holy water above her door if I thought it would light a fire under her ass.” 

His advice is the same as always: don’t let her bother you. She’ll leave when this proves unprofitable. Just have something to eat. If you’d like, I can rub your feet. 

Hester kicks off her boots and offers her feet to Inkfish, sighing a little with contentment as he gets to work on them. Fingers are nice and all, but the blunt end of his ‘arms’ are even nicer, squeezing and stroking and just rubbing out the cramps she’s gotten in them from climbing up the side of the Embassy. “I don’t know how I’d manage without you. You’re a lifesaver.” 

Inkfish chuckles, pointing out that Hester’s helped him too. He asked her to start carrying some of the amber around for him a few weeks ago and she’s done as much, keeping her pockets stocked. She still doesn’t entirely get why it’s important that it be close to her, but it’s got something to do with the next great step for Rubbery Men’s shapes. He says they’re aiming for more human, and that the amber absorbs the essence of those who carry it. It only takes what it’s given though, and it doesn’t hurt anybody who carries it with them. It’s not like Devils who take it all and leave in the night. 

She pulls out a piece of amber and turns it between her fingers, practicing a little sleight of hand. “What do you think? I could probably set up stage as a magician somewhere, draw the crowds in and then pick their pockets. ‘Course, that might not end so well if those flighty bastards from Mahogany Hall find out. Might be easier if I just get my hands on a printing press and print up a few dozen fake tickets to sell.” 

He shakes his head a little, bemused by Hester’s unwillingness to make money through legitimate means. It’s something he still hasn’t figured out, even after a few months of living with her. Hester’s not sure he can grasp it; his whole species seems to be a little too honest for their own good. 

Inkfish finishes with her feet and moves up to her calves, working the knots out of those too. Hester shifts, feeling a little mixed up. If he weren’t a Rubbery Man, she probably would have made a move by now and asked him to be more than just friendly. But she can’t get around his species so easily, especially not when just standing too close to him in public nets them both awful looks from people. 

Anyway, that might not even be an option. Hester’s certainly noted that there are plenty of Rubbery Men, but she’s yet to meet a single Rubbery Woman. She’s danced around the question a few times but gotten no answers. Maybe he can’t figure out what she’s asking, or maybe he just doesn’t want to answer. Either way, Hester’s dropped the subject for now. 

“Alright, enough of that.” She pulls her legs back when he reaches her knees, tucking them under her skirts. Hester ignores the way her cheeks have gotten warm and instead tosses the amber in her hands to Inkfish. “One of your suppliers told me that you’d be getting a special delivery soon. Apparently you have to accept it in person because I can’t touch it? What’s that about?” 

He waffles his tentacles and doesn’t answer it. It’s a sensitive subject. He’ll handle it though, and he thanks her for being discreet. 

“I’ll be wanting an answer one of these days.” Hester looks at the time on the mantle and with a sigh, she heaves herself off the couch. It’s not quite evening yet, but after getting up early, she’s bone-tired. If she hopes to do any late-night thievery, she better sleep now and wake later. “If anyone comes knocking, just ignore them. I’m not expecting visitors.” 

Inkfish assures her that he won’t be answering anyone. He’s got a little reading to do and dinner to see to. A plate will be waiting for her in the icebox when she wakes, which Hester will probably politely scrape into the garbage while he’s slumbering. 

She heads to her room, changing into a nightshirt and crawling into bed. Hester pulls the covers tight around her and quickly drops off, dreaming about stealing from Mahogany Hall and an unpleasant encounter with mirrors. Her nightmares have been low this last week and she hasn’t been drinking laudanum, which is the only reason she wakes so quickly when she hears the click of a door closing. 

Hester knows it isn’t Inkfish. He’s polite to a fault and he always knocks on the few occasions where he needs to speak with her when she’s in her bedroom. Whoever’s entered is moving as quietly as they can, steps softened by spidersilk. Her pistol is in the living room, but she’s not unarmed. She’s got a skyglass knife she keeps between the mattress and wall and Hester carefully retrieves it, hiding any sound with the restless shuffling of one who’s sleeping. The footsteps stop for a second, then start again when the intruder believes she’s settled down. 

She controls her breathing, keeping it slow and steady. Her eyes stay closed in the dark, focusing entirely on the person’s footsteps. They’re close, but not close enough. She waits, the time passing by agonizingly slow. Finally they’re close enough, and as they lean in, Hester tightens her grip, exhales, and brings the knife up to bury it in them. 

It hits flesh and she gets a scream for her troubles. Hester yanks it out and stabs again, and again, feeling warm blood gush over her hands. There’s something hard in the woman’s hand and she hits Hester with it, but it’s not heavy enough to do any damage. Hester shoves the woman onto the floor and quickly lights the candle at the end of her bed, illuminating a gorey scene. 

It looks as if Hester hit the woman in the chest and shoulder, and she lies there on the carpet, making a mess of things. The brass fork in the woman’s hand gives her identity away: a spirifer. 

“You’ve got to be some special kind of stupid to come into the Brass Embassy with that,” Hester tells her, keeping a hand on the knife. “You know they’ll hand you over to the Bazaar in a heartbeat for unlicensed trade.” 

The spirifer seems more concerned with the holes in her chest, her hands trying to cover them. Hester’s an afterthought, and when she does look up, she looks surprised. “W-what? You’re not what... I was told...” 

“Told?” She frowns, moving closer to bleeding woman. Spirifers usually go after the sick and the weak, taking souls from those whose souls are close to moving on. Breaking into the Brass Embassy was a stupid move... unless someone was told there was an easy target. “Who sent you here? What did they offer you?” 

Hester doesn’t get her answer. The woman just coughs and bleeds out on the carpet, dying pretty quickly. She sighs, wiping her blade clean on the body. There’s a rapid knocking at her door and she answers it, letting Inkfish in. He’s upset even before he sees the body, which just makes him a little hysterical. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine. She’s an idiot. We better call for security to haul her off to the Bazaar.” Hester does her best to calm the Rubbery Man down, only to find she’s shaking as well. Spirifers have been a recurring nightmare for her but... there’s a difference between nightmares and having one in your bedroom. “Come on, before she ruins the rug.” 

Security is never too far away in the Brass Embassy, and they certainly know how to clean up after a body. The spirifer is spirited away and two cleaners go to work in Hester’s quarters, quickly and cleanly removing the blood before it can set in. It’s easy to figure out how the spirifer got into her quarters, since the window’s wide open. The Scorching Ambassador, wearing a dressing gown that’s clearly been borrowed from whoever was visiting him, makes his deepest apologies and promises Hester that they’ll look into this matter. Inkfish hides in his room, which is really for the best since she’d rather not have any additional questions beyond the obvious ones. 

No one is too surprised to see that Hester was chosen. They must have some way of sensing when you’ve been parted with your soul once since their eyes flick down to her wrists and no one asks why she was targeted. Instead, they ask if she realized she was being followed and if she may have left the window open by accident. Hester knows it wasn’t open, but unlatched? She can’t remember shutting it up tight. 

The Quiet Deviless makes an appearance of course, and it takes all of Hester’s will not to say anything. She puts on a good show, feigning concern and mild outrage for someone poaching under the Embassy’s roof. It’s all bullshit. If Hester’s lucky, when the spirifer returns from the boat ride, she’ll tell the officials interrogating her that the Deviless told her where to start. It’s more likely though that the spirifer and the Deviless never met face to face and there won’t be even a scrap of paper to tie the two together. 

When everyone’s finally finished up and left, Hester locks the door and all the windows. The blood on her dressing gown has dried and will probably never entirely come out, no matter how hard she washes it. Inkfish emerges once he’s sure everyone’s gone, and the first thing he does is ask Hester if she’s alright. 

“I’m fine. It’s not the first time I’ve come across spirifers. When I was saving up to get the lease for this place, I would pretend to be a victim to attract them. They’re so used to people being too weak and sick to fight back, and they always carry a full supply of souls on them. They always had the same shocked look on their face when they realized they’d walked into a trap.” She tries to laugh about it, but it sounds fake to her. Hester doesn’t pull away when Inkfish sets an arm on her back and starts rubbing, making comforting sounds. She knows she should, but if she can’t let herself be a little vulnerable around the man who’s been living with her for months, then who can she be open with? “I knew she was there before she even reached my bed. There was no chance of her getting the jump on me.” 

It doesn’t convince Inkfish. Hell, it doesn’t convince Hester either, no matter how hard she tries to brush it off. He takes one of her hands and squeezes it, softly warbling out assurances. It’ll be fine. He’s here to help her. If she wants, he can keep watch for her. She may want to bathe and get the blood off. He can do laundry for once. 

Hester just lets him keep holding her hand and rubbing her back before nodding. “Sure. Sure, that would be good.” 

The bath does help. The tea he makes is even better. By the time she emerges, wearing her second-best nightgown, things don’t seem so overwhelming. At least, that’s how it feels until she steps into her bedroom and into a thick cloud of bleach stench. Hester quickly backs out and shuts the door, coughing a little. Before anyone goes in there, that room will need to be aired out, and she’s certainly not doing that until morning. 

Inkfish is in the kitchen washing the tea cups when she walks in and fetches herself a glass of water to clear the taste from her mouth. He asks her if she’s fine, his tentacles undulating with worry. Did something happen?

“I can’t sleep in my room tonight. The damned Devils cleaned it a little too well and now it stinks. It’s fine though, I’ve got plenty of books to read. I’ll busy myself until morning and then open my chambers up and air it out.” Hester picks up one of the teacups and a dish towel, drying the delicate things off. Usually she would leave them to air dry, but right now she wants something to busy her hands with. 

He offers her his bed while handing her another teacup. She slips the handle off the tapered end of his arm and dries it, hanging it up in the cupboard beside the others. Inkfish says that he can sleep on the couch since it’s comfortable enough. 

“No, that’s not fair of me. As I said, I’ll stay up. It won’t be bad. Day isn’t too far off.” She glances at the clock, which indicates that it’s a little further away than she thought. Hester would have sworn it felt much later than 3am. “Besides, I’d be a poor host if I stole your bed.” 

Inkfish makes an annoyed gurgle, twitching his tentacles at her. It’s not stealing if it’s offered to you, he points out, and she’s clearly tired. Hester needs to sleep, so she should take his bed. There’s no point in being stubborn. 

“There’s always a point in being stubborn,” she retorts, just to get a heavy eye-roll from him. Hester leans against the counter and watches as Inkfish pours the dirty dish water out the window, latching it shut when he’s finished. As he slips the dish beneath the cupboards, she finds herself proposing a solution that she hasn’t entirely thought through. “How about we split the bed? It’s big enough for two, and I know you’re a gentleman so I don’t need to worry about being taken advantage of. After all, I don’t even know if you could manage to do that, since I doubt you fellows have much in the way of fishing tackle, though I suppose you might-” 

The noise Inkfish makes is alarming honking sound that makes Hester flinch back. It takes her a moment to realize that he’s coughing and she carefully pats him on the back, hoping that fixes him. He rubs the little nostrils on the back of his neck frantically until the noise stops, and then quickly speaks to her. It’s so fast that Hester barely keeps up, only really getting bits and pieces about how that was rude of her and quite inappropriate. 

She waits for him to burn himself out before speaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just trying to make a joke. I still wouldn’t be opposed to splitting the bed though, without all the rest of what I was saying.” 

His tentacles ripple a little with something she can’t quite read. He asks again if this is another joke. Human humour has never been easy for him to grasp. Hester shakes her head no. Inkfish taps two of his tentacles together as he thinks and then nods just once. He thinks this compromise can work and he’d be fine with it. As she said, there’s plenty of room, and there is safety to be found in numbers. 

“That’s exactly it. Nothing will be sneaking up on you while I’m around.” And nothing sneaking up on her, though she isn’t so eager to say that aloud. Inkfish doesn’t challenge her on what she’s saying, for which she’s grateful, and they turn in after checking the doors and windows one last time. Hester also lodges a chair under the doorknob, just in case. 

He offers her the right hand side and she takes it, laying the skyglass knife on the beside table and putting one of the Rubbery Man’s books in front of it so it won’t catch the light if someone enters. Then she wraps herself in spare blankets, blows out the candle and settles down. Beside her, she feels Inkfish go through his own nightly routine, curling in on himself with just a sheet over his body. 

It’s been some time since she shared a bed with another. There was an artist once, when she first came to London. Hester didn’t love him, but he was handsome and good between her thighs, and she didn’t mind inviting him into her chambers whenever he was broke. And after him, the Curate and his sister, and after them... 

After them, the Deviless. Since her, no one else. 

Hester often wonders if she’s more hurt that the Deviless used her when she felt so much for her or that she was fooled so easily. For days after she woke alone, she waited for the Deviless to return. The days felt odd and dulled and her emotions, always so quick to boil over any other time, were as placid as a dead sea. It wasn’t until she had her hands back on her soul that she truly felt the anger and sorrow and embarrassment that had quietly dogged her from the moment she found her soul had been pawned to pay a debt less than a week after it was taken. It hadn’t even had time to get used to the little glass jar it was placed in and wherever she kept it in her home. Maybe it was unreasonable of her, but Hester had thought the Deviless would keep her soul close and safe, perhaps display it on a shelf and when visitors would ask whose it was, she would sigh softly but fondly and say nothing at all. 

Instead, both it and Hester were quickly shuffled out of her life to make room for the next victim. 

Hester catches herself knotting her hands in the sheets and forces her to smooth them out. Beside her, Inkfish lays still, with only the soft tootling of his snores to remind her that he’s alive. She turns to face him, noting the way he sleeps without a pillow, his finned head lying flat on the bed. The way he’s folded up on himself is astounding; he truly is boneless to be so twisted up and yet so comfortable. 

She’s never been good at not giving into temptation, and as soon as the thought of touching his head enters her mind, her fingers are running across the fin. It bisects the tapered end of his head, little rough ridges that bend beneath the pad of her finger. His skin is clammy and she wonders if he dries out often. Inkfish certainly takes his fair share of baths, staying in there for hours sometimes. 

His tentacles are all tangled and her hand slides toward them, moving between his large wide-set eyes. There’s no nose here, not even slits. She’s never asked him if he can smell things or not. Hester straightens his tentacles out for him, brushing over the nearly invisible line where his mouth is. He doesn’t breath through it and it always stays closed, unless he’s eating. All his breathing is done through those two small tubes on his neck, which are currently whistling as Inkfish sleeps. She wonders if they kiss with their mouth or the tubes or maybe their tentacles, if they kiss at all. Hester wonders what it would be like to kiss someone without lips. 

That last thought is a little too far for even her, and she quickly tugs her hand back, turning away from him and closing her eyes. Her life is too complicated without adding more trouble, and there’s simply no way kissing Inkfish would bring her anything but trouble. Just living with him is dangerous enough, particularly when the rest of Hester’s life tends to lead to more scandal than she can stand. 

Just sleep, she thinks to herself. Just sleep and forget this stupidity. Don’t make things worse. 

Those thoughts drop off long before she does, and by the time she falls asleep, her thoughts have returned to Rubbery Men and what it might be like to feel them beneath you.


	5. Chapter 5

Crushes are intolerable enough when you live apart from the object of your affections. They are even worse when you live with that person, particularly when any potential relationship would end with both of you sent into exile, and certainly not together. 

The Quiet Deviless remains next door. Hester continues to sleep beside Inkfish, even after her room is aired out. She can’t tell if he enjoys her company or if he’s too polite to say otherwise. He sleeps soundly at any rate, curled tight like a snakestone. Hester watches him before she drifts off to sleep, wondering what his kind must have been like before they took the shapes of men. 

She goes about her usual business of thieving and pickpocketing, though she still helps Inkfish with his amber trading in exchange for a cut. They get strange looks when they’re out and about the city and she’s constantly mindful of how much danger they’re both in if someone mistakes their friendship for anything more. 

No reminder is so vivid as the one they get while down at the Wolfstack Docks. They’re there to look at sorrow-spiders and decide if they want one skittering around their home. These fellows are fighting spiders, mean and vicious, but it’s a good reminder of what a partly-tame spider is more than capable of doing when angry. She’s watching them attacks the bars of their cages when the screaming catches the whole crowd’s attention. 

Hester recognizes the man doing all the screaming as one of her rivals during her very brief stint at the Shuttered Palace. He had always been so much better at playing the game than Hester, and had quickly given Hester a reason to abandon the Palace after putting her hands on as many valuables as she felt safe stealing. There’s not much left of the rival she knew in the man being dragged to the docks by a pair of broad bodyguards. 

It’s clear he’s being forced into exile, perhaps by a partner if he has a permanent companion, or some family member. The crowd quickly rumbles with rumours about his supposed crimes, some plausible and others ludicrous. Hester takes advantage of the confusion, having Inkfish fumble through the crowd so she can follow in his wake and pick those distracted pockets. 

They’re nearing the edge of the crowd when she hears the gasp ripple through them and she turns. Hester doesn’t understand what’s happening at first since there are always Clay Men at the docks, loading and unloading shipments or just waiting for orders. This one has a hand on the back of each bodyguard’s skull and he cracks them together so hard that the crowd flinches as one. The man isn’t afraid of him and he throws himself into the Clay Man’s arms, heedless of the blood splattered over those grey hands and all up his dirty jacket. The Clay wraps his arms around Hester’s rival, holding him as you would a lover. 

No, she corrects herself as the rival kisses the Clay Man, not as you would a lover, but as lovers do. He’s fallen in love with a Clay Man. No wonder they were taking him away to the Tomb Colonies. Perhaps they’d hoped to avoid more scandal. There’ll be no chance of that now, not with an audience watching their every move. 

The first thing thrown is a bottle which hits the rival in the back. The Clay Man turns him away from them and the next items - more bottles and cobblestones and even a few boots - bounce off the Clay Man’s back. Hester can see her rival speaking to the Clay Man softly, and for just a second, he looks over the crowd, stopping on Hester. Does he see Hester? Does he recognize her? 

Under a barrage of items, the Clay Man strides to the end of the dock. There are workers and tattooed zailors around them, but no one stops them as he steps off the pier, the rival still held tightly in his arms. They slip beneath the water and sink like stones. Hester pushes through the crowd and runs to the end of the dock to see if there’s anything to be done. A zailor jumps in, diving as deep as she dares, but she returns with empty hands. They’re too far down, lost to the darkness and the drownies. 

“Let ‘em drown.” A dock hand spits into the water, shaking his head. The only reason she doesn’t shove him off the dock is because she’s hauling the Zailor back onto the pier. The crowd disperses and only when Inkfish lets out a relieved sigh does she realize how stressed he was. She supposes they should both be glad that it all ended quickly and before they could work themselves into enough of a froth to turn on the easiest target among them. But she just looks down in the dark waters and feels her gut churn. 

“Let’s go.” She doesn’t grab onto Inkfish, even though she’d like to. They walk a foot apart from one another, all too conscious of the space between them. 

Hester makes a stop at the Bazaar on their way home, leaving Inkfish outside the crowded stalls and in an alleyway where he feels more comfortable. She doesn’t want to be away long, not after that unpleasant scene at the docks. The little business she has won’t take long, and indeed it doesn’t, as she quickly trades amber for cash and purchases a pair of spiderchitin gauntlets. She’s got a little business to see to, and after seeing those spiders go at one another today, she thinks their chitin may be just what she needs.

There’s a stall with pets nearby and Hester stops by it instead of passing on. There are all sorts of things here; bats and mandrakes, sorrow-spiders and a few very talkative rats. Hester looks them over, trying to wonder which of these would do well. 

“You looking for anything in particular? How about a bat?” The vendor points to the nests of bats in the rafters, all sleeping soundly despite the sound of the market. “40 pence a bat ma’am. Buy two and send messages to your friend! Buy a flock and teach ‘em to sing ‘Blow the Candle Out’! If you’ve got a rival with long hair, release ‘em in their home and listen to ‘em scream!”

“Sounds charming, but I don’t need any bats.” She keeps looking through the items, dismissing anything that doesn’t suit her. The cheerful goldfish is right out, except perhaps as a snack for Inkfish. The tiger is too big to fit comfortably in her quarters. And those mandrakes are right out. She has enough troubles without a screaming plant added to the mix. 

It’s the weasel that finally catches her attention, lounging in a crate near the back. He’s a lovely shade of brown, like melted caramel, and he looks ever so soft. The vendor must see the look in her eyes because he grins. “Lucky weasel eh? They’re tournament fighters y’know, and lovely pets, very clean and tidy.” 

“I could use something like that. I’ll take him, and half a dozen goldfish.” Hester hands over the echoes and gets a bowl full of fish to carry. The weasel is a friendly fellow and he sits on her shoulders, squeaking loudly and cheerfully. He promptly curls around her neck, like the world’s warmest stole. The market’s filling up now, and Hester gets moving before it can become too packed. 

Inkfish isn’t in the alleyway. Hester shoves down the bolt of panic she feels and forces herself to look at it rationally. He may have had to go away, and she continues down the alley, keeping an eye out for fresh blood. There’s no blood and no signs of struggle, but as she’s moving along, she hears a voice call to her. “Hey, hey you! You looking for that Rubbery Man?” 

Hester glances up. There’s a man leaning out a window and he’s sweating hard. The medicinal stink of ladanum rolls off of him. The man’s an addict, but he’s worth talking to anyway. “Sure am. Did you see which way he went?”

“I did. I’ll tell you if you get me a bottle of the clear stuff.” Thankfully, the stall is just back the other way and she returns a minute later with one. Hester tosses the ladanum up to him and he catches it, his hands shaking. He points off to the right. “He went that way with a Deviless.” 

Hester’s eyes narrow and she quickly runs down the alleyway, keeping her eyes peeled. As she runs, she finds herself plagued by a sudden, terrible thought; what if Inkfish is working with her? It’s a stupid thought, and she knows it doesn’t hold water if she thinks about it at all, but now that it’s in her mind, she finds it nearly impossible to force it out. 

“-should leave.” The voice is faint but Hester recognizes it as the Quiet Deviless. She slows quickly, turning the slapping of her feet on the cobblestones into a nearly silent creeping. The voice gets louder as she gets closer to the corner. “I’ll pay whatever debt you have to her.” 

Inkfish rejects the Deviless’ offer and says he’s not staying with Hester because he owes her. He’s staying because he’s a teakettle? No, because he’s a friend. At least, it has to be friend. She hates that she can’t see the way his tentacles are positioned. It’s making it hard to understand him, like when she first began understanding his language. 

The Deviless laughs and Hester knows she’s touching her lips with her fingers. She saw her do that so many times when they were together. “How many centuries have your kind had to learn how they work? Even after all this time, you’re hopelessly naive. You think she’s your friend? She’s using you.” 

He doesn’t agree with her. Inkfish says something about Hester that she can’t quite parse, something about his emotions. The word is unfamiliar to her, but she knows that tone all too well. He tells the Deviless that they know she told the spirifer to come after Hester. He says-

The Quiet Deviless doesn’t laugh this time. She cuts him off, her voice disgusted with Inkfish. “Tell me, is this some new ‘plan’ your people have come up with to be more human? Or have you been away from Flute Street for so long that you’ve grown desperate? She can’t give you want you want. They aren’t built the way your kind is.” 

Inkfish is offended, making that same stuttering honk that he did when she first asked him to sleep beside her. He tells the Deviless that she has no right to say such things to him or to talk about what he is or isn’t able to do. 

“It’s simply the truth. If you find it unpleasant to hear, think of how unpleasant it will be to listen to her when she brings a lover home.” Hester hears what the Deviless is saying, but her mind finds it hard to let it sink in. Is she saying what Hester thinks she is? “You can’t give her what she wants. The best you can hope for is to be a slave.” 

Inkfish squalls something rude to the Deviless and moves away from her. Hester should move, duck down the alleyway and pretend she didn’t hear him coming. She’s rooted in spot, thinking of that word he used that she’d never heard before. Was that love? Or attraction? Or something unfathomable? 

She’s still standing in place when he rounds the corner. Inkfish stops dead when he sees her, all his tentacles curling in close to his face. He stares at her and she just stares back, a glass bowl full of fish held close to her chest. 

“Are you still here? Let me give you one last piece of advice.” The clack of the Deviless’ heels on the cobblestones is loud and clear. “Go home. Pack your things while she’s out and leave. Your kind was never meant-” 

The Deviless joins the Rubbery Man in stopping dead when she rounds the corner and spots Hester there. It’s enough time for Hester to realize she needs to do something or else this will end badly. She grips the fishbowl in her hand and throws the water at the Deviless. It explodes into a cloud of steam when it hits her body, filling the end of the alley. She screams in pain, and Hester throws the glass bowl for good measure, hitting what she hopes is the Deviless. 

“Come on!” Hester yells, grabbing hold of the Rubbery Man and making a run for it, dragging him along behind her. She knows the alleyways of London, and quickly finds their way to the Forgotten Quarter and the heavy fog that always lies over the ruins there. It’s only when they finally stop their running, Hester panting and Inkfish whistling like a tea kettle as they both fight to catch their breath, that she remembers she’s still holding his arm. She quickly lets go, not wanting them to be seen and to face the same ugly scene at the docks. “Where did- did she come from? I was barely gone ten minutes.” 

His tentacles flail quickly as he tells Hester what happened. He isn’t sure if she was following them or if it was coincidence. She approached him alone, telling him that they needed to speak. Inkfish thought perhaps he could convince her to leave them be and end their fighting. She wanted him to leave Hester. He couldn’t do that. Then she - and his tentacles twist uneasily here, unused to lying - told him that Hester was using him and that he should leave. 

There was more said than just that, but Hester says nothing, not wanting to embarrass him. If she embarasses him, he may leave. She just nods instead, deciding it’s best they pretend his version of events is true. “We should get home. At least security will look out for us there.” 

He nods and they quickly hurry the rest of the way to the Brass Embassy. It doesn’t appear the Deviless has returned before them. Hester hopes the water really hurt her. It probably didn’t, since her luck is rarely good. She locks the door behind her and Inkfish and they check all the windows before they dare relax. The weasel lying around her neck wakes and chitters loudly until Hester lets it go so it can investigate it’s new home. 

Inkfish heads to the kitchen to put on tea, and Hester notes how clumsy he is, shaking a little more than usual. Hester’s not exactly at her best either, feeling a little off balance. If Inkfish feels something for her, maybe it is best that he leaves. These feelings are dangerous, to her and to him. Maybe the Deviless is right about them not having what the other one needs. She doesn’t need another broken heart, or the constant danger of being caught and sent to the Tomb Colonies. 

It’s not fair. Things were going so well between them, and the Deviless came along and made it all wrong. Hester feels a flash of hate in her heart. Wasn’t it enough that she used Hester and made her feel as if she wasn’t good for anything but a soul? Wasn’t it enough that she tried to part Hester from her soul a second time? 

She’s never been very good with thinking things over, and tonight is no exception. Hester heads into the kitchen, taking the kettle off the stove. “I need you to watch the door so you can tell me if the Deviless is going into her room.” 

Inkfish waves his tentacles at her, sounding very concerned that she’s about to do something she hasn’t thought through. Isn’t it best if they just ignore the Deviless for a while longer?

“I’ve already been ignoring her and look where it got us. Just keep watch.” Hester heads to the window and opens it up, slipping outside. She’s not dressed to burgle, but she doesn’t have far to go. Hester shimmies to the window besides hers. It’s latched, but that’s no trouble for her. She carries a number of tools on her at all times, including a rather powerful magnet an old flame on the surface sent once. With some careful coaxing, she gets the latch to pop open and slips inside. 

It’s an odd feeling being inside the Quiet Deviless’ quarters. She recognizes all the items, but the arrangement is all different. Hester could spend an hour or two here just looking over the things and remembering times spent with the Quiet Deviless in her parlor, writing poems to cheer her when her bat died or playing games and talking softly to one another. Those once good memories are now soured through and through by the knowledge of what the Deviless’ real plan was. 

She needs to move quickly. The souls are easily found inside a steamer trunk, neatly stacked and labeled with names. John’s is among them. She slips all the bottles into her clothes, neatly stashing them into the pockets she’s sewn on the inside of her skirt. The souls are good to take, but more importantly, she needs to find the contracts. They aren’t with the souls, and that’s a problem. 

Aware that she’s running out of time, Hester quickly goes through the room. It would be easier if she knew what to look for, but Hester never thought to snoop for contracts when she was courting the Quiet Deviless. She checks every trunk, every suitcase and every drawer in her desk. Finally she finds them in a filing box in the back of the Deviless’ closet. The contracts are there, neatly numbered and ordered, and ash lies at the bottom of the box from those few lucky fellows who had their souls returned to them. Her own contract’s ashes may lie among them. Hester gathers all the contracts in her jacket and makes for the window. 

Her timing must be just right, for as she’s halfway out, Inkfish darts his head out their window and warbles a warning at her. Hester swings out and shuts the window, trying to get the latch back in place. She tries right until she sees a crack of light from the door, and she quickly swings away from the window, dangling beneath her own again. 

Inkfish tries to pull her back inside but she shakes her head. Her voice stays low, in case the Deviless comes near. “I need to be rid of these souls and contracts in case she discovers they’re missing. Just keep the door shut and wait here. If she asks, tell her that you and I went different ways and that I had to do some thinking about what I overheard in the alleyway. I’ll be back soon.” 

The poor Rubbery Man twists his tentacles, murmuring out apologies for whatever was heard, and promises that he won’t bother her with it, and that he can leave if she’d like. Hester barely thinks as she leans in and kisses him, she just knows that she can’t stand to wait another second or risk him being gone. Inkfish goes still and her mouth stays pressed against his. It’s not a very good kiss if she’s being honest, but a kiss is a kiss all the same. 

She sags down a little as her arms get tired of holding her weight up. “Don’t leave. Please don’t leave, not while I’m gone. When I come back, we can talk about everything, I promise. Just stay here until I come back. Promise me you’ll do that.” 

He doesn’t answer at first, still too shocked by what she’s done. Hester is slipping and she’s forced to let go and drop to the window below her. He pops his head out further, and just looks at her, silent. Hester feels her stomach twist. Maybe she misunderstood the context of what was said. Maybe whatever word he used didn’t mean that exactly. 

But then he nods and Hester smiles with relief. She quickly climbs down the side of the embassy and slips away. When she looks back, he’s still watching her. She isn’t sure what she should do - grin or raise a hand maybe, so she just slips away instead. 

The C.V.R. has contacts all across London, but Hester prefers to visit St Vincent de Paul. When she was seeking for her own soul, they were the ones who were willing to help her. The Reverend is out on business and Hester leaves the contracts and souls with one of his assistants, a man with sallow skin who carefully checks each soul to see if his own is among them. He seems resigned when it isn’t, and he promises that he’ll see these sorted with the rest. 

Hester decides it’s best if the C.V.R. contact John directly. She doesn’t know if he’s decided he wants his soul or not, but if Hester contacts him and he’s sided with the Deviless, she’ll have the evidence she needs to send the constables after Hester. New Newgate isn’t somewhere she’s eager to return to anytime soon. Hopefully John will be happy to see his soul returned, but she’s got bigger things to worry about. 

On her way back to the Embassy, Hester stops by a pub and pays for a pint. She hates to slop a little on her good clothes but she does it all the same, surrounding herself with the sour smell of cheap ale. Her pint’s half full when she leaves, and before she’s even at the door, she spots one of London’s unfortunates quickly draining it. 

She could stay out longer. A part of her thinks maybe she should. What has romance ever brought her but bad luck? Even before the Fall, both her own and London’s, she hadn’t much luck. They all left her in the end, one way or another. Eventually, Inkfish will do the same. She could disappear tonight if she wanted, start again somewhere else in the city, or perhaps board a ship and travel to another place. No more heartaches. No more bad feelings.

No more lazy days drinking tea and reading in the parlor with Inkfish. No more dinner conversations. No more trips to the market with him. No more sleeping soundly at night with him so close that she could reach out and touch him. No more of the simple pleasure he brings her life. 

Hester makes her way back to the Embassy, putting on the act of staggering when she reaches the iron doors. The Deviless is not waiting outside Hester’s room for her to return, nor does her door budge when Hester lets herself into her own apartment. Inkfish is waiting for her in his usual chair in the parlor, rising when she enters. 

“Did she come by?” She asks and he shakes his head. “Well then, she hasn’t discovered it yet. She will though, sooner or later. I won’t tell you what I did, it’ll be easier that way since you can say you truthfully don’t know what happened or what was taken. Of course, she may still call the constables and we’ll have to make sure there’s nothing in here too suspicious-” 

He steps in close to her, and he gently rests two tentacles on her lips, stroking her mouth with soft motions. She’s at first confused and then flustered when she realizes that he’s kissing her, in his own sort of way. Hester really hopes that what she did before wasn’t rude or disgusting. This is quite nice, and she reaches out to set her hands on his hips, leaning her head in closer to rest her forehead against his. He always feels a little cool, and it’s refreshing to feel his skin pressed against hers.

Inkfish rests his other set of tentacles on her neck, and his arms close around her waist. He softly asks her if this is acceptable, or if he should let go of her. 

“Don’t let go, and don’t stop,” she assures him, kissing the tentacles resting against her mouth. His flesh is remarkably soft and smooth. Hester presses her body against his, shivering slightly when his arms slide further around her body. He feels strange, but it’s not as off-putting as she thought it might be. 

They just stand like that for a while, his tentacles moving across her mouth and neck. His touches are so tender, as if he’s afraid he might frighten her. She’s more worried of frightening him away. 

“I like you as more than just a friend, and I think I’ve made that more than clear by now.” Hester speaks softly, her hands resting on his greatcoat, playing with the seams on his pockets. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the same for you.” 

Inkfish burbles a soft agreement and leans his head back, taking his tentacles off of her so he can speak clearly. Yes, what he feels isn’t platonic. He tells her she’s the first human he’s felt this way about. The blunt ends of his arms stroke along her sides as he shyly tells Hester that he’s been reading her books to understand human romance and that he still doesn’t quite grasp it all, but he’d like to, if she wouldn’t mind teaching him. 

She’s certain he didn’t mean for it to sound like that, but she flushes all the same. Hester leans in and kisses the base of his tentacles, on the bulge just above his mouth. He quivers slightly, his skin growing clammier than usual. “There are a lot of things I wouldn’t mind teaching you, if you’d like to learn them. I could even teach you tonight, if that’s not too fast.” 

He hoots as he laughs and tells Hester that is isn’t too fast. His kind wait a long time to find the proper companion, but once found, they don’t waste time with deeper courtships. Inkfish should have made a move the night they slept in the same bed, when she touched his face, but the little he knew about human mating rituals was that they require more time spent together.

“You’ve been reading too many books. Sometimes, we move as fast as you do.” She takes hold of his arms and leads him to the bedroom, before she can lose her nerve. What she’s about to do is likely illegal, certainly immoral, and absolutely a one way ticket to the Tomb Colonies. Hester doesn’t care though, not when she’s waited so long for someone she could trust. 

Still, she locks the door and draws the curtains, ensuring he’s the only one able to watch when she begins to undo the buttons on her dress. As soon as he realizes what she’s doing, he strips along with her, all his items quickly slipping off his body. Hester sheds her dress and he sheds his coat and jacket, stopping at his trousers, when Hester turns her back to him so he can help her undo her stays. Inkfish may not have fingers, but he picks out the knots quicker than she can and helps her shift the soft corset off her body, quickly followed by her pettycoats and stockings. She’s reluctant to remove her shift while he still wears his pants, and there’s a moment where they both stand there, nearly naked, waiting for the other to make the first move. 

Inkfish breaks first, and with an embarrassed burble, he works his breeches down. Hester holds her breath as she waits to see what lurks there. She’s surprised and a little relieved to find that he’s smooth between his thighs, like a child’s doll. There are some strange growths on either side of his thighs though, and they remind her of flowers in a way, composed of petals of flesh. He whispers an apology and presses his thighs together. 

“No, they’re lovely to look at. Would it bring you pleasure if I touched them?” She asks this cautiously, not sure if they’re reproductive or perhaps for something else. The shade of green Inkfish turns makes it clear that they’re for him what her cunny is for her. Hester backs Inkfish toward the bed and has him lie there. She spreads his thighs and takes a closer look, gently running a finger across the shape on his right thigh. Inkfish reacts by squirming and throwing his arms over his face, warbling softly into them. “They must be very sensitive. Does it bother you when they touch when you walk?” 

He admits that he sewed extra padding into the thighs of his pants to dull the sensation during the day and to keep him from behaving inappropriately in public. Then he makes the most fascinating sound, like a tuba being cleaned, and twists as she presses her mouth against the petals and blows lightly. Inkfish grasps hold of the mattress, his body twisting in strange ways. 

“Do all Rubbery Men have these? They’re very pretty. Tell me if I’m being too rough, they look sensitive.” She traces her fingers along them, smiling when she realizes that the petals all overlap a little and form a sort of spiral, allowing her finger to trace toward the center. He shudders softly and a clear liquid gathers in the spiral as her fingers trace across it. It has a salty taste to it, like tears, and she’s careful not to get more of it in her mouth. 

Hester turns her attention to the one on his other thigh, not wanting to neglect one for the other. Inkfish makes the prettiest sounds, singing softly as her mouth kisses each petal of salty-tasting flesh. He sounds like a glass harp and she plays him like one, half amused by the sounds he makes, half aroused. Hester can’t say she finds the flesh flowers all that attractive, but she loves the way he sounds and how his face and body twists, reacting to her every move. 

Soon they’re both leaking the liquid and Inkfish pants as he tries to catch his breath. Her fingers keep brushing lightly over the petals and she wonders how he’ll come, if he can come. Will it be obvious or subtle? The best way to find out is simply to do, so Hester just does, lying her head against Inkfish’s thigh to blow on the flower and watch him shake ever so softly. He softly begs her to do that again, and if she would please trace them at the same time. 

“Like this?” She runs her fingers along the petals as he asked, tracing the spiral in and out and in again. It is what he wants and he sings for her, sharp tones that ring in her ears. Hester grins, knowing this is a secret that she and very, very few others must know about Rubbery Men. The clear liquid oozes steadily from his thighs until it changes colour, becoming cloudy and white. Even the texture changes, becoming more like a foam. The taste remains the same though, unpleasant as ever. She blows the foam around instead, watching it curl together and listening to Inkfish peal. The petals seem more swollen than when they began, and she traces a finger along the edges, peering a little at the grey flesh beneath. “Tell me if I hurt you. I don’t want to do that.” 

She’s not, Inkfish assures her as his voice squeaks a little. He tells her that she’s doing very well so far and that she’s being gentle, which he appreciates very much. Even as he’s trembling all over and her hands are on his nethers, he’s ever so polite about it. Hester grins to herself, tracing the swirls until the foam clings to her fingers. He twists and sings and curls his arms around his head until all she can see are his tentacles waggling through his appendages. 

When the foam changes, Hester feels a spark of worry at something red and viscous slowly creeps out. “Inkfish? You’re bleeding- well. Not bleeding I guess, since yours isn’t red. It’s red like blood though, are you alright?” 

Inkfish sounds exhausted when he tells her that it’s all fine, and that she might not want to touch that. He asks if she could fetch a cloth she wouldn’t mind ruining. There’s spider silk scraps in the drawer and she fishes one out, offering it to him. Inkfish sits up, still whistling like a kettle as he tries to calm himself, and carefully goes about cleaning the flowers on his thigh. The red liquid is thick and it dries quickly, leaving the cloth stiff as a board. Hester can’t help herself and she reaches out to tap it, finding it smooth and hard. 

“Does it always do that?” she asks, taking the handkerchief when he’s done with it and tossing it into the bin across the room. He nods, and she tries to imagine why you’d want something like that to happen. There’s a lot she still doesn’t understand about Rubbery Men, but she supposes she’ll have plenty of chances to learn from here on out. She touches the engorged petals on his thighs and he lets out a shuddering sound, carefully removing her hands. “Sorry, did it hurt?” 

It’s sensitive, he says as he settles his own arms on her thighs and curls them under her shift. Would she like him to touch her now? He would really like to see her naked, if she doesn’t mind.

Hester gives him a grin that feels braver than it is and works her underwear over her head, dropping it beside the bed. There’s a sort of strange freedom she’s feeling, knowing she’s the first naked human he’s been this close to. Hester turns so she’s lying on her back, propped up on her elbows. “I’d love it if you touched me.” 

His arms slide over her body, pausing to touch the parts she’d expect, but also the bits she wouldn’t have thought. They caress her breasts and curl around the flesh, but they also prod gently at her belly button and marvel at the places on her body where bone can be felt under the flesh. He makes the most calming sound as he runs the blunt end of his arms down her thighs and parts them, his tentacles undulating with deep interest. 

Inkfish settles his body between her thighs and brings his face close to her cunny. She can feel his tentacles parting the lips and Hester finds herself going red. Hester’s no blushing virgin, but she’s never had anyone examine her nethers so much or so closely. Inkfish tells her that she looks lovely, and his arms coil around her thighs. He asks her not to mind if he doesn’t talk much during this. 

“That’s fine, that’s- ffff!” Hester’s assurances quickly disappear as he slips his tentacles into her. One finds her pearl and curls around it, squeezing ever so slightly. Some others stroke the walls and one inquisitive little devil finds her entrance, running gently in circles around it. “Ah Inkfish, that’s good. Oh that’s good.” 

He’s eager to experiment, his tentacles pushing and prodding, stroking and squeezing until he figures out what she likes. Her face is red by the time he slides a tentacle inside her, squirming around inside her in the most amazing way. She touches her breasts, pinching and stroking her nipples to make herself wetter. 

A second tentacle joins the first inside her and Hester cries out as they coil inside her, moving in ways she never knew things could. He looks up, startled and then pleased when he realizes she’s not in any pain. Hester grabs hold of the pillows on her bed and shoves them under her shoulders so she’s elevated just enough to watch him. A thrill runs through her at the sight of Inkfish lying between her thighs, watching his arms tighten around her flesh as he presses his face in closer to her cunny. 

His tentacles are precise with their movements, systematically exploring her body and looking for a reaction from Hester. As one squeezes her pearl, the tip of the tendril strokes over the hood, sending little pulses through her body. He plays her like an euphonium, coaxing out the most embarrassing and unladylike sounds from her mouth. Her fingers busy themselves on her breasts, stroking her nippes in time with the tentacles twisting and thrusting inside of her. “Inkfish, that’s wonderful. You’re doing so well.” 

He makes a sound that she’s sure means he’s pleased and perhaps bashful. A third tentacle pushes inside her and Hester’s a little amazed he can manage that when she’s clenching so tightly around him, but that amazement is quickly replaced with intense pleasure as he strokes her insides, squirming and pushing against her inner walls. Hester’s hands abandon her breasts, gripping the sheets as she feels her release building. Her breath is coming hard now, her skin flushed and sweating as she gets closer and closer. 

“More, more, just a little more! A little harder, a little faster, just... just a little more,” she begs him, so close she can nearly taste it. The tentacle on her pearl squeezes and then grinds against it, causing Hester to gasp with shock. The others inside of her focus on pressing up against that one hard to reach spot inside her cunny, stroking it in just the right way. It rises in her until she falls over the edge, all her limbs pulling tight as ecstasy rips through her. “Inkfish!” 

She arches and collapses, her thighs shaking and her pelvis turned into a throbbing source of pleasure. Inkfish slips out of her and crawls up the bed, leaning over Hester. He strokes her face and his tentacles glisten with her remains on them. Inkfish tells her he loves her, or at least she thinks that’s what he’s saying. He certainly likes her, and Hester manages a tired but pleased smile. She leans up and kisses him, tasting herself on his face. When they break apart, Inkfish goes to the washroom to clean his face and Hester just lays in bed, savouring the way her legs feel like jelly. 

He brings her a glass of water to drink when he returns and Hester accepts it with a “thanks”, washing out the remains of the salty taste left from when she touched his nethers. Hester sets it aside and curls against Inkfish once he crawls into her bed, his cool skin feeling good against her hot cheeks. “I care for you too. You’re a good friend, and wonderful in bed, and I wouldn’t mind if we see where this leads us.” 

Inkfish tells her that he wouldn’t mind that either. He wraps his arms around her and apologizes in advance, but he may fall asleep soon. His body is worn out from his orgasm and will need time to rest. She just chuckles and presses a kiss to his chest, more than ready to do the same. 

“Sleep then. I’ll be here when the morning comes.” Hester yawns and adjusts her pillows again so they’re under their heads. She draws the sheet over their bodies and closes her eyes, finding that she has no trouble drifting off to sleep with her rubbery companion at her side.


	6. Chapter 6

Hester wakes with Inkfish tangled around her, feeling slightly damp and a little chilled. She pulls her blankets closer before she realizes it isn’t London’s air that makes her feel this way, but her companion. Inkfish has his head nestled against her chest, his tentacles curled and clinging to her breasts, and his arms and legs both twined around her. 

She’s not usually the kind who likes being held in bed, but she doesn’t mind this so much, particularly when he isn’t causing her to overheat and he’s so light that she barely even noticed his weight on her body. Still, she carefully untangles herself and pads out of the bedroom to use the washroom and wash her mouth out. 

It doesn’t seem like the Deviless has noticed she’s been robbed, and Hester feels a small spike of worry. Stealing from a devil is dangerous enough under the best of circumstances, and their feud is anything but that. Eventually she will notice and her revenge will likely be swift, but Hester hopes that perhaps losing money will be enough to discourage the Quiet Deviless from bothering Hester any longer. 

She’s partway through breakfast when Inkfish emerges. For once, he hasn’t dressed immediately after waking up and she takes the time to appreciate his naked form. It’s clear now how much of him must have been changed by time to stand on two legs and she can see where tentacles once were in the way his ‘feet’ resemble his ‘hands’ and in the remains of thick muscles that twist along the entire length of his body. It’s remarkable how they can walk so steadily upright without any bones. He goes to the cupboards and finds a tin of sardines, settling in the chair beside her and asking her if she slept well. 

“Very well.” She leans in, pressing a short kiss to the root of his tentacles. He touches her face with them, though some bad timing means when he goes to touch her lips, she opens her mouth to speak and gets a mouth full of tentacle. Hester spits him out and Inkfish flushes bright green, burbling an apology. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I guess I need to be a little more careful. I don’t want to bite you.” 

He agrees; being bitten isn’t exactly something he’d enjoy. Her teeth look like they’d hurt and he’s delicate. She grins and then turns her attention to the scar on his torso. Hester touches it, remembering how she sewed him up the night they met. Inkfish flutes a little, remembering the same thing. He says he’s glad she was the one who came across him.

“Me too. Good thing those assholes cornered you under that window so I had to deal with them. I might have walked on otherwise.” She takes his arm in her hand, and he curls it up her wrist, giving her a soft squeeze. 

It’s a lovely day outside, and rather than wait around for the Deviless to discover her missing merchandise, Hester decides they should go finish their business at the Bazaar now that it’s a new day. Inkfish has mentioned he’d like to get a new coat, maybe something a bit more fashionable, and he wouldn’t mind doing a little amber trading. Hester’s got secrets to sell, and a few street signs to be rid of since that stuff is contraband and if the Deviless calls the embassy security on Hester, her apartment needs to be squeaky clean. She dresses up for the day’s outings and fills about half her pockets inside her skirts. Inkfish waits for her by the door in the spare workman suit with a suitcase full of amber, and it’s impossible to resist how handsome he looks in his suit. Hester leans in to kiss him one last time before they head out. She takes her poison-tipped umbrella with her, since you can never be sure when it will rain, or when you’ll need to discretely be rid of a pest. 

Even the Forgotten Quarter doesn’t seem so dismal today, and the banks of fog look inviting instead of ominous. The only sour thing is that she can’t hold his hand, which she really wouldn’t mind doing today. Instead, she just stays close and prattles a little. “I was thinking maybe we could watch some mushroom races later if you’re game. It’s a fine spectator sport, and one I think you’ll enjoy too since the racers are more or less civilized. I mean there’s the usual cheating and all, but it’s not like the spider fights. There’s a lot less death and blood all in all. What do you think?” 

He thinks that would be fine. Inkfish has a few friends who manage betting on the races there as a way to distribute amber. It’s an easy way to get the amber out, but you have to be careful or you could easily lose it all. If you’re lucky, you’re just forced back to Flute Street, but too often, Rubbery Men have found themselves with payouts they simply don’t have the amber to cover and they end up paying with their flesh or their lives. 

“Sounds awful. I suppose that’s why it’s called a gamble, though those are stakes I’d avoid, particularly since your kind can’t take the boat back.” Hester’s died more times then she’d like to admit. She’d tried to make her way through the Flit before she was ready to navigate those heights and the falls had been harsh and bone-crushing. But the alternative was waiting in Spite when all the real money was to be made in the Flit, and she’s never been good at waiting. 

It’s early enough that the bazaar isn’t too busy. Normally, they’d split ways to see to things, but Hester doesn’t want to get too far from Inkfish, not after yesterday. They get a few odd looks when they walk into shops together, but nothing too hostile to worry about. The Rubbery Men are the most friendly of the bunch, and while Inkfish does his business, a few of them invite Hester to sit down and play a few hands of Faro. 

They’ve got a dealing box to stop cheating and for once, Hester has to rely on honest luck instead of her hands. She loses a few hands and wins a few hands, but all she loses is some amber. She picks up plenty of useful secrets, including the entrance to Flute Street and the answer to a conundrum she’d been wondering about for some time; namely, is there such a thing as a Rubbery Woman?

They have a good laugh at the question, and one of the younger ones, a new arrival from Flute Street, tells her that there isn’t, and the ideas of man and woman don’t apply to their kind. Rubbery Men are monogendered and their biology doesn’t match up with human ideas of what makes something male or female. The others shush him but he keeps chatting with Hester. Their lifecycle is vastly different as well, and these forms they wear are new-

He’s hit upside by the head by an older one who angrily mutters at the younger one. Hester does her best to calm them down. “No, no I know about that, or some of it anyway. This isn’t how you always looked, but you changed when you came to London.” 

The Rubbery Men around the table look shocked by what Hester knows and the oldest one throws a glare in Inkfish’s direction, softly burbling to Hester that she shouldn’t know about that. They aren’t eager to share that with outsiders. 

“I’m not going to be spreading it around.” She means it. Though she was thinking about selling their secrets not too long ago, she’s not so eager to let it out anymore. After all, London doesn’t need any more reasons to misunderstand them. “I just find it interesting. Why’d you choose to be all men anyway? Why not have half of you dress differently and pass as being like humans?” 

They laugh like she’s told a joke, and it takes Hester scowling at them to get an answer. Why would they present themselves as women? The Rubbery Men have enough trouble with this place as they already are. They’d only be putting their members in further danger by forcing some to dress as women. 

“It’s not that bad- I can’t even say that with a straight face. It can be that bad.” Hester’s reluctant to agree, but they’re right. Things are changing, but she’s run up against troubles now and again, particularly during her brief and highly scandalous stint at the Shuttered Palace. “But I’ve worn skirts and I’ve worn pants and one of those is far more comfortable than the other.”

Inkfish interrupts and taps Hester on the shoulder, telling her it’s time to go. She rises, shaking ‘hands’ with the rest of the table, taking what little money she won. One of these days, she’s going to figure out a way to beat those those dealing boxes, but for now she’s fine with the occasional honest loss, especially when it takes hardly any time at all to make back what she’s lost by picking pockets. 

“The dealer I need to see is just over there. Let me go pawn my signs, and then we’ll get you a new coat.” Hester heads down the block, glancing around. There are more people out now, and she notices a few people whispering while looking at her and Inkfish. It’s just idle gossip, but it makes her feel uneasy. She keeps talking, partly to distract herself. “Do you think you’ll go with green again? There’s other colours too. You might look good in charcoal.” 

He disagrees with her assessment, suggesting that he should really stick with what works for him. It seems like the looks are getting to him too when he brings them up and suggests that maybe they’re being too familiar with one another. They could split up, just for a bit. 

“Maybe.” She really doesn’t like the thought of splitting up, but he’s right; it might be best. “I’ll handle my signs and come find you by the shop.” 

There’s a sinking feeling in her stomach when they part ways. Hester slips into the store of her usual fence and browses the shelves until the two of them are alone. She slides the signs out, piling them on the counter, and the Underhanded Middleman grins at Hester as she sorts through the pile. “You’re going to run out of these one day.” 

“Maybe, but there are still plenty out there, if you know where to look.” Hester leans against the counter and watches Middleman count out Hester’s payment. “Anything new I should know about?” 

“All sorts of things, but there’s been one big scandal you might be interested in. One of those high society types was caught getting too friendly with a Clay Man. His family was hauling him off to the Tomb Colony when the Clay Man showed up and it all went to hell in a handbasket.” Middleman glances up at Hester when she finishes counting, and she must see the look in Hester’s eyes. “You knew about that?”

“I was there. I saw them walk off the dock.” Hester does her best to keep her voice level as she takes the cash and slips it in her pocket. 

“I’d heard that they sunk like a stone.” Hester nods. She appreciates that Middleman keeps whatever their thoughts are on the subject of the drowning to themselves. “Suppose he’ll take up with the drownies?” 

“Maybe.” She shivers a little at the thought. Hester’s dealt with the drownies before. There’s something monstrous about being stuck between life and death like that, maybe even more monstrous than the bandaged souls you meet in the Tomb Colonies. “Anything other than that I should know about?” 

“One more thing, I suppose. Bunch of Devils came through here a little earlier too. They looked like they were up to more trouble than usual. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re looking for some poor soul to go hunting in the Quarter.” The Underhanded Middleman shrugs, not terribly concerned. “Should be easy enough to avoid ‘em if you steer clear.” 

“Thanks. I’ll see you around.” She takes her leave, feeling that low-leveled worry starting to grow. Devils traveling in packs are never a good sign. Maybe she’ll talk Inkfish into going home early and waiting for another day to get a new suit, maybe when the Clay Man and the man have faded from memory. 

She makes her way to the suit shop but he’s nowhere to be seen inside. Hester’s thinking of the best excuse to use to ask if he came in when she hears the all too familiar sounds of the mob. She ducks out of the shop and follows the building sound of outrage. 

The edge of the mob begins at the square and she grabs hold of the nearest figure. It’s a priest and she feigns piety with a worried look on her face. “Father, what’s everyone doing? What’s this crowd for?”

“These sinners have let the agents of Hell bend their ears with a monstrous tale.” He shakes his head with disgust. “Those brimstoned servants spread word to any who would listen that a Rubbery Man at the market had engaged in carnal acts with a woman. They’ve grabbed all of those poor soulless wretches in the area and- God forgiven them, they’ve begun.” 

The front of the crowd jeers and a Rubbery Man comes into view, hoisted high in the air by the rope around his neck. He struggles silently while the noose digs deep into his throat, struggling against the bonds preventing him from escaping. The feeling of dread Hester’s been feeling crystallizes and she shoves her way through the crowd, going over anyone she can’t get around. There are some shouts from those she climbs or steps on, but they’re quickly drowned by the rest of the crowd, cheering and jeering loudly at the poor struggling man. 

From the shoulders of others, she gets glimpses of the front of the crowd. It’s a mix of humans and devils, and three other Rubbery Men. She sees Inkfish among them and she can see him yelling at her to get clear. There are two men yanking on end of the rope and Hester brings her umbrella to bear. It’s not the best weapon, but it’s remarkable what you can do with a little forethought and a lot of force. 

She shoves through the front of the crowd, bringing the umbrella back and thrusting it beneath the chin of the first man. It skewers him and she quickly pops the umbrella open to help her draw it out of his skull. Without the extra weight on the rope, the other man stumbles forward, over the falling corpse of his friend, and collapses on the ground. The Rubbery Man lands a second later, his face grey and struggling. Hester snaps the umbrella shut, shouting loud enough to be heard. “This umbrella is coated in poison and the next bastard who tries anything will get a dose large enough to stop their heart! Now let go of the Rubbery Men or you boys are next!” 

While the crowd backs up, Hester quickly surveys the area. There’s a twine knife in the dead man’s back pocket and she grabs it with her free hand, quickly slicing up the hung Rubbery Man’s binds. She can’t tell if she’s too late or not and she doesn’t have the time to spend on him. When they shove the other Rubbery Men over to her, she quickly cuts Inkfish’s ropes and hands the knife to him. He’s panicked, stumbling over his words, trying to tell Hester that they both need to run as soon as they can.

She’s about to nod and respond back when another voice speaks up, the Quiet Deviless speaking louder than Hester would have thought possible. “That’s her. She’s the one who lives with that Rubbery Man and who made those horrible noises last night.” 

“Fucking devil!” Hester shouts, quickly swinging her umbrella as the crowd surges in again. “I told you to stay back! Inkfish, cut them loose!” 

“You took that thing into your bed?” A dockhand darts at her, stepping back quickly when Hester nearly nails him with the umbrella. Inkfish is working as fast as he can to free the others, but the crowd is quickly realizing that Hester can’t possibly stop them all. “You’re disgusting-”

Hester stabs him in the shoulder, shoving him back into the others around him. “You’re dead. Who’s next? Who wants to feel it burn through them? It hurts worse than you can imagine!” 

Unfortunately, there are some takers. The umbrella takes care of two of them, but the third grabs hold of the damn thing and yanks it from her hands. Hester uses her fists on the others as they surge in, knocking them back when she has no other choice or knocking them out when she can get in the right shot. Inkfish tries his best, taking a few swipes with the knife, but it’s very short and he quickly gets it knocked from his tentacles. Hester fights with all she’s got, clawing and biting as she’s overwhelmed and slammed against the ground. 

“Don’t let ‘em get away!” a woman yells and she hears the squealing of a Rubbery Man. It’s hard to hear with the crush of bodies on her, and she prays that isn’t Inkfish she hears. Hester screams, fighting against the fists gripping her and her dress. They don’t quite have her legs and she kicks a couple men in the face, drawing blood and breaking bones. “Get her head free!” 

The loop of rope is crammed over her head and pulled tight as someone starts yanking on the other end of it. They let go of her, dropping her on the ground, the rope squeezing her throat as they lift her into the air. Hester thrashes and flails, first trying to stay on the ground, and then trying just to keep from strangling once she’s in the air. Her hands claw at the rope, trying to find a way under it, but it’s too tight. She can feel it cutting into her flesh and her legs kick at the air helplessly. 

Inkfish is right below her, yelling something to Hester she can’t quite understand when she’s choking. She feels like her head’s going to pop off her body as they hoist her up the lamp post until her feet are above their heads. Hester struggles hard but she can’t breathe and her vision’s going dim. She’s died before, but never like this. The crowd changes, sours, some turning away, some fighting, but most still cheering on the violence before them. 

Hester’s hands fall away from the noose on her neck as her strength runs out. All she can do is watch as they throw the rope around Inkfish’s neck and lift him across from her. She meets his eyes and wishes she could say something, but all she can do is gurgle while her lungs burn. Hester hears something distant, but she passes out before she can place the sound. 

When she returns from the dead, she’s alone in a dripstone cell, dressed in prisoner’s rags and with a new scar encircling her throat.


	7. Chapter 7

It takes the better part of a month to find out exactly what happened after she died. Her reputation precedes her in this place, and not too many are willing to speak with her. The only upside is that she doesn’t have to fight for a spot at the mess hall, since most are all too willing to give her some space. Hester can’t bribe her way into their good graces this time, and she’s left trying to find someone with a little sympathy for her, or at least someone who’s willing to trust that she’ll pay them later. 

It’s hard to keep track of the days in New Newgate. There’s a rhythm here, but it runs just slightly off the clock, a little fast or a little slow, it’s hard to tell, but Hester’s body protests that she’s waking at the wrong hours and eating at the wrong times. The only thing that’s constant are the dirigibles that arrive twice a week with supplies and prisoners. She can watch them unload boxes from her cell, and once watches a crate split open and spill firefox candles into the ‘zee below, hearing the faint cursing from the workers above. 

Hester passes the time the only way you can in this place: by plotting her escape. She keeps track of the dirigibles and she keeps an eye out for rags she can take back to her cell and knot into a rope. This isn’t the first time she’s been jailed here, and she’s grown quite used to escaping. But she’s never been completely on her own before. Nobody here wants to help her. 

Her eventual ally comes in the form an unlikely source: Eben, the man she killed the night she met Inkfish. When he sits across from her, Hester honestly thinks he’s there to kill her. Her neck still hasn’t entirely recovered from the hanging and when she speaks, and her voice is raw. “If you’re wanting an apology, I don’t have one for you.” 

“Apology? I don’t give a fuck if you blew a dozen of those squids, none of that matters to me. You called the Sneakthief?” Hester nods, unsure of what’s going on. Eben leans in closer, lowering his voice. “I worked with the Stuttering Fence. He said you helped him get out of here.”

“I did, but I had connections then. Nobody’s talking to me. I don’t even know what happened after those bastards strangled me.” Hester pokes at the tasteless gruel on her tin plate, hiding both her confusion and the moment of relief as she realizes why he doesn’t know her; he never saw her face. By the time he woke up, the only person who might have known Hester’s face had fled. 

“I can find that out for you. But then I need you to help me get out of here.” His shoulders slump in, a desperate look in his eyes. “I’m in here on false charges. The constables say I was stealing from a barrister, but I wasn’t doing nothing of the sort. Somebody killed me and framed me, and I’ve been stuck here since. And I uh, didn’t cooperate much when they brought me in, so now the warden’s got it out for me. I’m not getting out of here the legit way, not without help. You got a plan, right?” 

Hester nods slightly: yes, she does. She’s got a handle of the dirigible schedule and she’s nearly halfway through making an escape rope, so getting them out is something Hester can arrange. One escape is easy though; two is much harder. “It’ll cost you.”

“I don’t care if it costs every last halfpenny I’ve got. I need to get out of here.” He nods toward the table. Hester slips a hand underneath and he presses a cloth bundle into it. “That’s what I got. I’ll get you that info you want too. You get me out of here, I’ll pay you more when we get back to London.” 

She feels the bundle, not entirely sure what’s in it. Hester feels a blade that’s probably a prison shiv, something she’s been in desperate need of, and she nods. “Alright. Find out what you can and get it to me soon. When I hear from you, I’ll tell you how we’re leaving.” 

They go quiet as a gaoler comes by, knowing better than to breathe a word of this in front of those masked bastards. The man, assuming there’s a human under that hood and shapeless clothes, shuffles past them. Eben just nods to her and gets up, taking his tray back to the main mess area. Hester tucks the bundle into her skirts before heading back to her cell. She can’t risk looking at anything inside it, not until much later in the evening. Hester spends most of that time staring out the window towards London, wishing she could see the lights. She misses it, and more than London, she misses Inkfish.

When the lights go out and the gaolers stop shuffling through the halls, Hester sidles up to the window in her cell and by dim glim-light, she opens the bundle. There’s a shiv there, as she suspected, half a dozen firefox candles, a handful of rostygold, and a little vial of something. Hester uncorks it and smells it, blinking with surprise as the sweet scent of prisoner’s honey curls out of it. That may come in handy and she quickly stops it up again before she can be tempted to throw herself in a honey dream to escape how dreary this place is and how worried her mind is. 

It’s not easy waiting to find out Inkfish’s fate. Hester refuses to get her hopes up or down. The last she saw, he was hanging there with her, but she’s sure now that the sounds she heard were the police coming - too late for Hester, but maybe not for Inkfish. She doesn’t hope because hoping is a waste of energy, but she also refuses to despair because that’s an even bigger waste. The best thing she can do now is just focus on getting as much done as possible before she finds out the truth. 

Hester puts herself to work while she waits for Eben to return with his news. The rostygold goes straight to the Warden’s pockets in exchange for getting sent to help the Troubled Undertaker. The prisoner’s honey goes to the Undertaker and after a few days of cleaning and dumping out corpses for him, he agrees that when her and Eben’s bodies show up, he’ll report them among those eternally expired so their escape won’t be noticed by anyone. The candles are exchanged for more rags from a fellow prisoner who’s hunting down the Snuffer for reasons Hester would rather not know. She manages to make a pair of ropes and wraps them both around her torso to keep the gaolers from finding them, and she just waits to hear from Eben. The days pass slow when she’s not at work or trading, and she invents things to busy her hands before her loneliness can overwhelm her.

They get a chance to speak about three days later when they’re both down on bilge duty. It’s ugly work, and Hester’s plugged her nose with a little wax to make it tolerable. Eben’s eyes are red and watery when he sidles up to her and he speaks quietly to her as they shovel the muck out. “Coppers showed up pretty quickly after they strung you up and most of the mob fled. They cut down a couple of Rubbery Men but I dunno if any of ‘em lived or not. They got the ringleaders but somebody paid the cops and they set ‘em all free, ‘cept for you. Did you really kill a dozen people?”

“That sounds like too many, but I wasn’t keeping count.” That wasn’t anything she hadn’t already assumed, and it wasn’t the answer she actually needed to know. Was Inkfish alive or not? They hanged him after her, when she was on the edge of passing out, but the edge of death would have been another minute away. He could have survived long enough to be cut down. But they would have cut her down first, being human and all, which gave him even less time. 

“So when are we leaving?” he asks, jolting her out of her thoughts. A gaoler passes by and they both go quiet and get busy shoveling. It’s hard work and by the time he wanders on again, her lungs are burning from breathing in the reeking air. 

“Soon. Tonight if possible. We just need to get down to the Undertaker. When you’re ready to leave, come pick a fight with me in the dining hall, and be ready to die.” Hester throws a shovelful of muck into a barrow and nods for him to take it to the furnace. “Handle anything that needs to be handled.” 

“It already is. I’ll see you tonight.” He lifts the cart’s handles and wheels it away, leaving Hester alone with her thoughts. She wanted to know if Inkfish was alive or dead so she could know if there was anything waiting for her in London. It’s not Eben’s fault that he was able to find so little about Inkfish. After all, if he had the connections to learn anything of value, he wouldn’t be asking her to get him out of here. But it doesn’t stop her from feeling disappointment that she’s no further ahead than when she woke up that first night here. She wants an answer, not this endless waiting and not knowing if she should be mourning him.

Hester sighs, forcing herself to get back to mucking. She can worry about Inkfish when she’s out of this place and she has time to breathe, and time to decide what to do about the Deviless. Her hands tighten on the handle and she shovels shit more forcefully just thinking about her. Right now, she thinks she’s won it all, but Hester isn’t about to let that happen. She’ll have a little time to plan once she’s out of jail, especially if she’s still reported as dead by the Troubled Undertaker. 

Daydreaming about crushing the Deviless is almost the end of Hester, since she misses the footsteps until they are nearly on her. She glances over her shoulder, expecting to see Eben, but finding a group of other prisoners instead. They’re hardbodies, the kind of people who never get out New Newgate and instead find a sort of employment as enforcers for those who are outside the prison. Seeing them means someone has paid for their services and, if you’re lucky, the worst they will do is beat you a little. 

Hester brings the shovel up as she addresses them, doing her best to sound friendly. “Afternoon, gents. I don’t suppose you’re here to commend me on my good work?” 

A couple of them chuckle, but she finds the one who doesn’t laugh to be the most sinister of them, as he’s got enough intelligence in his eyes to be a real problem. “We’re here to collect something for a quiet friend of yours. She wants something of yours for her mantle, to match the bits of Rubbery Man preserved there in a jar.” He shows her the spirifer's fork up his sleeve and nods for the other men to step in and hold Hester. 

She does not allow herself time to let that man’s news set in, not when her soul is on the line here. Hester brings the flat of the shovel against one woman’s face, knocking her back and then bringing the blade to bear into the second. There is a loud wet thunk as it sticks home and she stumbles, yanking the handle from Hester’s hands. Hester dips her hands into her dress and seizes her shiv, shoving her shoulder into the ringleader to buy her some time. He’s not expecting her to throw her weight around, and he stumbles and slips on the slick floor, falling in a pile of something soft. 

Hester sets her sights on the last person, and with the shiv free, she promptly buries it in their neck. There’s surprise all over their face as they fall, clearly shocked that she was any challenge at all. What idiots. Hester has quickly learned in London that nothing is more dangerous than something you treat as toothless. She approaches the ringleader and puts a foot on his face, shoving him down into the shit and letting him suffocate there while she slips the fork out of his sleeve. “Consider yourself lucky I-”

The rest of her sentence goes unfinished when she finds a shank pushed into her own sides. Hester is no stranger to knives in her body, but repeating something doesn’t make it easier to stand. She twists and finds the first woman is on her feet, her face red from where the flat of the shovel hit. That was stupid of Hester. She should have broken that woman’s neck while she was down. 

She pulls the knife out and shoves it into Hester again, Hester wheezes as the air’s knocked out of her. She still has her own knife, and she stabs it into the woman’s chest, hacking at her as she hacks at Hester. They each get off half a dozen stabs before they collapse, leaning against one another with knives still deep inside. Hester is fading when Eben returns, looking at the horror in front of him. Hester tries to say something, like that he should hurry up and join them, or that he should let the Undertaker know there’s been a change of plans, but all she does is spit up blood and then pass out. 

By the time she awakens, it’s too late. 

Her eyes crack open and the Undertaker is there looking at her, motioning for her to stay silent. Hester’s body aches and her lungs are burning, wanting air badly, but she is silent. From under half-lids, she can see a gaoler nearby, his back momentarily turned as he investigates something. The rope is still coiled around her body and she hopes badly that it wasn’t cut when she was stabbed. 

“It’s a shame when they go so young. All that potential is a hard thing to see go to waste. I wonder if this one had children or not.” The Undertaker’s speaking, and she realizes that he’s been stalling, waiting for her to wake. Hester keeps an eye on the gaoler as her hand moves to her dress, sliding inside and finding the start of her rope of rags. She draws out what she can, which isn’t much. It’s still enough to hook onto the lip of the chute so she can hang there while she gets untangled and swings her other rope up, to hold her until the dirigible comes. The Undertaker continues to speak while Hester finishes her work, watching the gaoler as well. “London is a dangerous enough place to live as an adult. I’d hate to think of a child left alone in this place.” 

“Enough. London is of no concern, not in Newgate. Drop the bodies,” the gaoler growls out though his heavy mask, turning to face Hester. She lets her eyes drop shut and does not open them until after she’s been pushed out the opening, the rope catching and squeezing the hell out of her. Death has left her a little clumsy and she fights to undo the other rope from her wrist and to catch the end on the hook bolted to the bottom of the stalagmite, put there by some unknown hand who has assisted the escape of dozens of prisoners. Hester does not panic, not even as bodies begin to drop beside her. 

She finally snags the rope on the hook and wraps it around her arm, fighting with the one still tight around her waist, squeezing her insides out. A body falls beside her, but only as it grabs her foot does she realize it’s still alive. It yanks her down hard, and the rope holding to the corpse-dropping opening snaps, unable to hold them both. Hester does not scream as she drops, but she does let out a cry when the other rope catches them and snaps her arm in two. “Fuck!”

“What the fuck’s happening?” The voice below her says, and Hester manages to glance down. It’s one of the hardbodies dangling there, the one who stabbed Hester and was stabbed in return.

“Oh damn it, he sent the wrong one with me!” Hester snarls, barely holding onto the rope. Her arm is a mass of pain and all but useless. She grabs hold of the rope with her free arm and does her best to hold on. Hester had expected she and Eben would need to hold on together, but she had thought he’d be beside her. She hadn’t planned on some asshole holding onto her ankles. 

Hester tries to judge the hour of day by the movement of bats around them and the brightness of the lights above them. It must be supper time. In that case, the dirigibles will be along in less than hour. From this place, she can see the Zee churning beneath them, the thick black waves cresting and falling. If they fall now, they’ll drown and return to life under the waters, only to drown again and again. Madness waits for any who die in that manner. Of course, they might also be eaten by one of the monsters who dwell deep in the Unterzee. There’s no chance of being picked up by a ship, not when they would be all too aware that New Newgate was directly above them. 

“Look, whoever you are, this is an escape attempt you’ve stumbled upon. Either we work together and we escape this place, or we both drown in the Zee.” Hester’s arm is a mass of pain, but she forces herself to speak through it. “My arm’s broken and tangled in the rope. You need to climb up me and hold on yourself so I can untangle it. If you don’t, then we’ll both drop.” 

“I don’t want to drop. I want to get out of here.” There’s a terror in her voice that’s genuine, and she climbs Hester like she’s a tree. It hurts like hell and Hester hisses loudly between her teeth to keep from screaming. The woman climbs above Hester and hands there, giving Hester a chance to unwind her broken arm. When it’s free, Hester wraps the rope around her good arm and tucks the broken one against her body. As she finally catches her breath, the woman above speaks. “How do we get back up?” 

“We don’t. We wait and fall when the dirigible comes.” Hester looks at her good arm and hopes that the woman above her doesn’t decide to try break that as well. “What’s your name?” 

“I’m the Bellicose Cutthroat. I know who you are.” She’s clutching the rope, looking very fearful for someone who not too long ago was happy to fill Hester full of holes and wasn’t too deterred when Hester did the same to her. “God almighty, tell me the dirigible comes soon.” 

“Soon enough. Be glad we don’t have to wait hours.” The original plan would have had Hester and Eben dangling for some time. “Can you hold on?”

“I can hold. But if I have to look down, I’ll be sick.” That’s bad new, particularly since Hester is directly below her. 

“Close your eyes then, I’ll tell you when it’s time.” Hester wishes she could work her way up the rope and catch her foot in the loop at the end, as she had planned to originally. But she can’t lift herself with a single arm, and she certainly doesn’t trust this woman above her to do anything but dump Hester into the Zee. 

It’s hard to keep track of time dangling there. Hester’s arm feels like it’s been lit on fire and it burns hard, making her desperately wish for something to dull the pain. The Cutthroat is no help at all, her eyes squeezed tight and arms desperately grasping the rope, but she’s also less trouble than she could be. They hold on tight and just wait. 

It’s harder still to steer her thoughts away from Inkfish. She was able to keep her body busy in the prison and her mind fixed on escaping, but dangling here, waiting for the zeppelin to arrive or for the guards to look out and see them, he rises to mind again and again. Worse still is the memory that rises again and again of him hanging before her, face bulging as the rope pulls tight around his throat. It’s not something she wants to remember, especially not now when she’s tangled in yet another rope.

Finally, as Hester feels her other arm tiring, there’s the slow steady sound of motors. She nudges the Cutthroat. “Here they come. When I say drop, you let go and drop. If you freeze up, then you’ll have to wait for someone else to find you, or you can drown.” 

She winces and shakes her head. “God no, good God no. I’ll drop when you say so.” 

“Fine. Be ready, here it comes.” Hester keeps her eyes on the dirigible, making sure she’s judged it right when she finally gives the word. It occurs to her that she could say drop early and be rid of the Cutthroat rather than take risks heading back to London with her. She could also say nothing at all and slip away without a sound. Hester doesn’t though, not willing to send anyone to the drownies, and when the time comes, she says it loud. “Drop!” 

They both fall like stones, landing on top of the balloon. Hester’s judged it perfectly and they hit the middle where no one will see the edges shake and if any are paying attention, they will only notice the bottom puff slightly. They lie there, both curled tight. Hester’s arms ache and her mouth is parched and she’s miserable and relieved at the same time. It’s only as she lies there, collecting herself, that she notices she’s still in her bloody prisoner rags. So’s the Cutthroat, who is nestled deep in the fabric. 

Hester makes her way closer to the Cutthroat, lying beside her. She speaks softly so the crew below them won’t overhear their voices. “No one can know we lived and escaped.”

“No one will. I plan on changing my name and becoming something new. I’m done with being the Cutthroat.” She looks at Hester, giving her a weak smile. “It was nothing personal up there neither, just business.” 

“I know.” Hester is well aware. It was a paying job for this woman, just as it was nothing but self-defense on Hester’s part. “Even?”

“Even.” She presses her face against the silky fabric and falls asleep a moment later, too tired and frightened to be awake any longer. Hester would love to join her, but someone needs to be alert, just in case the crew has anyone who’s determined to investigate any oddness in the dirigible shape. 

While the Cutthroat sleeps, Hester simply lies awake and waits for the familiar lights of London to welcome them home.


	8. Chapter 8

They wait until the dirigible docks and is unloaded before Hester and the Cutthroat slip down the rigging and make themselves scarce. Their prisoner’s rags and masks mark them as criminals, and they need to be rid of them quickly. It’s the Cutthroat that spots a pair of Sinning Jenny’s girls lingering under a streetlamp nearby. It’s not polite to roll Jenny’s girls, but they’re both beyond politeness, trading rags for scarlet stockings and modish bonnets. 

“I don’t even know where to go. I haven’t had a place to call my own in London for years,” the Cutthroat admits, sticking close to Hester. “What about you?”

“I have a few places. Come on, you can stay with me while we figure these things out.” Hester’s not making the offer out of decency, but so she can keep an eye on the Cutthroat. Maybe she doesn’t know who her employer was exactly, but if she does, she might be tempted to go tattling and get herself some cash. If Hester keeps her housed and fed for the time being, then that’ll buy her the time she needs to figure out what to do about the Deviless, and how to find out if Inkfish lived or died. 

She takes the Cutthroat to the flophouse. The rooms here are cheap and she’s been paying for hers to remain open, just in case she ever needed it. Nobody looks twice at a pair of whores when they enter, though a few men make offers that Hester turns down. She picks the lock to her room and shows the Cutthroat inside. Judging by the untouched Echo sitting on the desk, nobody’s broken into it while she’s been gone. That’s good, though all the really valuable things are hidden where others shouldn’t be able to find them. 

“Not bad. Oh, you’ve even got a window.” The Cutthroat looks out of it, pulling a face when she realizes the only view is the alleyway. “Feh. Still, better than New Newgate.” 

“Better by far.” Hester checks her medicine cabinet and finds a few Tincture of Vigours, downing half a dozen and offering a few to the Cutthroat. Her arm already feels better, but it’s nowhere near ready for the amount of climbing Hester’s going to need to do to get rid of the Deviless, or to find out if Inkfish still lives. Hester joins the Cutthroat at the window. “I’d like to hire you for one last job, before you become something else.” 

The Cutthroat swallows some of the tincture, keeping the blue glass bottle close to her chest. “What is it?” 

“I’ll need someone to serve as a distraction for me. All you need to do is draw their eyes to you instead of me. I’m not sure how many times I’ll need you, but it shouldn’t be longer than a week and I’ll pay handsomely.” Hester makes the offer, hoping the Cutthroat takes it. She needs to peer into the windows of the Brass Embassy and find out if the Deviless is there, and she needs someone to keep the eyes off Hester while she picks pockets. “You need lodgings, so how about I give you these?”

“You’ll give me this place just for making an ass of myself in public a few time?” Cutthroat glances around and sticks out her hand. “Done.” 

They shake on it. Cutthroat takes the bed, and once Hester’s sure she’s asleep, she pulls up the floorboard and gets out the real treasures she left here. She happily ditches her scandalous outfit for shadowy gear. Hester stopped using most of this ages ago, but it’s better than anything she could steal off the drunks. The opera cape’s seen much better days, but she starts to feel more like herself when she wraps it around her. Hester takes enough items to pay for tomorrow’s meals and stashes the rest away. 

She catches a few hours of sleep, though they’re uneasy and she wakes whenever she hears anyone moving nearby. Cutthroat sleeps soundly through it all, only waking when Hester returns with breakfast the next morning. Her eyes light up when Hester sets the basket between them, quickly stuffing her face with what’s inside. “Fresh bread! Stew! Milk! Where did you get this?”

“I went to the market before it opened and found a few people.” Surface food is hard to come by, but occasionally you can get your hands on it. They both eat until there is nothing left, and Hester has herself a few dark-dew cherries. Her arm is fully healed once they’re swallowed down. She’ll be able to climb today, and though daylight is tricky, she’d rather they do it now than later, when the Quiet Deviless will likely be entertaining guests in her home. “Let’s get to work.” 

“You really shouldn’t have offered me this place. I would have worked for you just for more food like this.” Cutthroat sighs wistfully over the empty basket and follows Hester back out. 

They make their way to the Brass Embassy, walking through all too familiar streets. Hester’s remained composed until now, but she feels a lump forming in her throat at the thought of Inkfish. She does her best to shove those feelings deep inside of her. This is a dangerous game she’s about to play, and Hester can’t afford to waste time or energy on mourning a man who may not be dead, or worrying about a man who may be. Cutthroat is no replacement for him, but her presence reminds Hester of all the times she and Inkfish made this same journey, though in their case they were going home. Or, rather, they were going to Hester’s home. Maybe Inkfish has returned to Flute Street. Maybe he’s dead. She bites her mouth until the pain steers her thoughts in a better direction. 

“Just keep them busy until you see my signal. I’ll throw some neatherbrass near you and you’ll meet me there, in that alleyway.” Hester points out their meeting place before they part ways, Cutthroat heading into the square and Hester taking to the roofs. The cape hides her shape well and she moves quickly so it’s harder to see what she is. There are others on the roofs, urchins and criminals and those whose homes lie in shabby rooftop shacks, and she carefully navigates around them. 

Hester makes her way to the back of the Embassy and to the windows of the guest suites. The lights in her own rooms are all off. Nothing’s been touched, which is a small blessing, and there’s not even any lewd graffiti against the walls. But then again, this is the Brass Embassy. They’ve always provided excellent service to their paying customers. Hester turns her attention away from her room and to the Quiet Deviless’ instead. 

The Deviless is still there, sitting on a couch and talking to what is likely her latest victim. Hester angles her head to see who it is, but the room’s set up to make it difficult to look in and spy. There’s a tenseness to her, but also a triumph. Hester wishes she had a spyglass so she could see what the Deviless was saying. 

Her guest doesn’t take whatever’s been said well and they stand up. All of the breath goes out of Hester’s lungs as she sees a tentacled arm point at the Quiet Deviless. Is it Inkfish? She quickly shuffles down the roof, trying to get a better vantage point. The angle the furnishings are on means she can’t see more than his arm and the occasional flail of tentacles, but she finds it hard to believe the Deviless would have any other Rubbery Man in her chambers. 

They fight a little more, the Quiet Deviless clearly winning. She leaves triumphant while the Rubbery Man sits down and sinks out of sight. Hester frowns; why isn’t he leaving? She needs a closer look, but she can’t risk it while she’s still in the suite. But if that’s Inkfish, then she needs to know why he’s there. A part of her quietly worries that her worst fears were right, that they were in cahoots, but she snuffs that out. There’s more than enough evidence that they weren’t, and no man would volunteer to be hung by a mob, not when his kind don’t return from the dead. 

She makes her way back around, mind churning all the while. It’s hard to walk away from the guest rooms instead of toward them. Hester’s always been impulsive, and if she’s honest with herself, it hasn’t exactly paid off for her. She could rush in there now and tear him out the window, perhaps even humiliate the Deviless again. And then they would be no further ahead than they were the day before the Deviless turned the mob against them. She might as well kill them both the moment she burst in through the window and ensure her soul was out of the Deviless’ hands for good. And all of this assumes that is Inkfish she saw. Her heart tells her yes but her brain tempers it, demanding that for once in her life, she listen to it instead. 

What Hester needs right now are two plans, one on how to get the Deviless out of London for good and one on how to speak to Inkfish, if that really is him. The second is the easiest, but made more troubling by the first, which will require some very dangerous work. There’s no chance of the Quiet Deviless leaving London of her own accord. There’s only one thing to do with her: piss off the Brass Embassy enough to send her back to the Iron Republic. 

Cutthroat is still at work when Hester returns back, catcalling a couple of Devils. She’s got a bit of an audience and Hester has to be careful when she tosses the bits of brass not to be seen by them. Hester waits at the meeting place and after a little time for Cutthroat to wind them down, she makes her way over. 

“Are they all still so desperate for souls down here? You’d think they’d try to buy more at New Newgate. Nearly everyone there would sell ‘em if they thought it would get them good food and a real bed.” Cutthroat adjusts her bonnet. “So, did you get what you needed?” 

“The first part of it. We’ll have to do the second, once I’ve got the supplies I need.” Hester looks at the Brass Embassy in all it’s overwrought and luxurious glory. “Unfortunately, most of my stuff is locked up in there where I can’t get it.” 

“You live there?” Cutthroat’s eyebrows spike up as she looks at the Brass Embassy, giving a long low whistle of appreciation. “How’d you afford that?”

“I robbed spirifers of their souls for months. You should have seen the walls of the flophouse, just covered in souls. It made it hard to sleep with all of those thousands of bottles packed around me. I used to worry that when I got rooms at the Brass Embassy, I’d still hear them. Thankfully they keep them all in a... really thick vault.” Hester’s conversation comes to a stuttering stop as it hits her. She casts her eyes on the Embassy and realizes that she can solve both problems at once. 

“What? You alright?” Cutthroat waves a hand in front of Hester’s face, frowning a little.

“I’m fine. I just realized what I need to do. Let’s get back, I’ve got some favours to call in.” She grabs hold of the Cutthroat’s arm and tugs her along, mind abuzz with ideas. Hester knows exactly how to make sure the Quiet Deviless is sent from London and never bothers her again.

Hester’s going to rob the Brass Embassy and frame the Quiet Deviless.


	9. Chapter 9

It takes the better part of a week to prepare. Hester gets her hands on blueprints of the Brass Embassy. She buys a bottle of the Deviless’ favorite perfume and gets used to the smell of hellfire. A dress is found and a wig and a pair of delicate blown-glass lenses that she can barely see through, but which give her eyes the golden colour that devils need. The last is the most expensive item and she pays dearly for it, handing over the deeds to three wine cellars. 

They’re all worth it though, because when the Cutthroat sees her wearing them, she gasps and looks genuinely frightened until Hester takes them out. “God almighty, for a moment I’d thought you’d been fooling me this whole time. How can you stand to have those in your eyes?”

“They’re incredibly uncomfortable, but I won’t be wearing them long.” She cleans them and fits them into the case she was provided, putting it with the rest of her things. 

Cutthroat sleeps and eats mostly, catching up on years of quiet luxury she had been denied in New Newgate. Hester busies herself with her plans, pouring over the blueprints and her own memories of the place. Getting into the Embassy is the hard part, but once she’s in, security becomes less of an issue. The Devils can be quite lazy sometimes, and in this case, the Embassy’s always relied on their reputation to discourage theft. She should have a clear shot at the vault once she’s inside, and from there, she’ll need to take what she can to the Deviless’ room. 

The trouble is that Hester needs to make sure the Deviless is gone while this all happens. Cutthroat is the perfect person to distract her, but also the perfect person to betray Hester. Trust doesn’t come easily to Hester, especially not with other criminals, and she’s still not sure how much she should tell Cutthroat, in case she figures out what Hester’s worried about through the questions she asks. The woman’s not a stupid one, and Hester would certainly be able to figure it out from the sorts of questions that need asking. 

It burns her to leave such a vital part of her plan a risk, but she has no other choice. She could wait for her to leave, but there would be no way to ensure she would stay away the entire time Hester needed in order to rob the vault and to return to the room. Hester also has no way of knowing how much time she will need to spend with the Rubbery Man inside the Quiet Deviless’ quarters, assuming he is still there, and assuming again that it is Inkfish and not another. 

Hester has never been particularly comfortable with any situation she can’t manipulate to go her way, but she has no choice here. She’ll just have to trust the Cutthroat and hope for the best. 

The first part of Hester’s plan, and the only part that the Cutthroat knows about, is similar enough to her work before. They’ll go to the Brass Embassy and part ways just before it. Only this time, the Cutthroat is to go inside and make her way to the Deviless’ suite. From there, she’s to get the Deviless out, no matter what she has to say or do. She’s given her half a dozen letters to ‘deliver’ depending on the Deviless’ mood and a few places to safely take her if she’s willing to be lured out by the promise of souls or revenge of some sort. The Cutthroat looks excited instead of nervous and while Hester hates how that makes her feel, she puts those feelings aside and returns her smile before climbing up to the rooftops. 

The darkness makes her less anxious as she makes her way around the Brass Embassy, trusting it to hide her. The change of clothes to make her into the Deviless are tucked in a parcel under her arm and the black of the opera cloak leaves her little more than a shadow as she leaps across to the Brass Embassy, taking hold of windowsills and moving down. 

She finds her own chambers easily enough and carefully leans over, peeking into the room beside hers. The Deviless is at the door and Cutthroat is doing her song and dance. From this close, she can see the Rubbery Man sitting on the couch. He’s sleeping and Hester’s heart quickens as she recognizes his face. It’s Inkfish. He’s alive.

She can see the scar around his neck where the rope bit in and she feels a flush of anger. They’ve both been marked now by the Quiet Deviless. If she thought she could kill that Deviless, she would in a heartbeat. But all she can do now is wait to see if Cutthroat has any luck.

It’s a gamble that pays off. The Quiet Deviless accepts whatever offer Cutthroat makes her and gathers her things, leaving her suite. Hester waits until she’s sure the Deviless is gone before she starts on the window. Much to her annoyance, she finds the lock’s been replaced with something more sturdy than a latch and the trick with the magnet doesn’t work on a turn-lock. Hester bites her lower lip, looking at Inkfish, and knocks on the glass. 

He doesn’t wake up until the second rapping, and then he seems dazed and confused as he looks at her, blinking slowly. It isn’t until she raps a third time that his eyes widen and he realizes that it’s her. He shuffles over, stopping short of the window and leaning in the most awkward way to reach the latch. Inkfish fumbles with it, the tip of his arm barely able to touch the turnkey, but he finally gets it and Hester shoves it open, all but toppling inside. 

Inkfish is upset, and excited, and mostly just disbelieving. He tells her that the Deviless said she was dead, dead forever and dropped into the sea. The Deviless told him that Hester had been killed on her orders in a knife fight. He demands to know how she survived and in the same moment, warbles out that he’s been so afraid this past month, trapped in this place. 

“I’m fine. She wasn’t half as clever as she thought she was,” Hester assures Inkfish, setting down the parcel and wrapping her arms around him. He holds onto her and for a moment she just does that, knowing they’re wasting time by not caring. She thought he was dead, but he’s not. He’s alive and he’s here. Inkfish’s face presses against her collarbone and he makes the saddest sounds, the kind that make her heart break. Hester hates to pull back but she does all the same. “We’ve got limited time. I’m going to make sure she can’t hurt us again. How did you get here?” 

He gestures down to the chains digging into his flesh. They’ve been tangled together, leaving him with limited mobility and keeping him attached to the couch. He woke up like this after the constables cut them down. The Quiet Deviless decided to keep him where he couldn’t cause trouble and he’s been trapped here since. Today she told him that since Hester was dead, she’d be rid of him soon. He doesn’t know if she means to kill him or just throw him out in the streets. 

“Nobody will be doing either, I promise you.” She kisses him then, her hands cupping his face as her mouth presses against the root of his tentacles. He touchs her face as well, those delicate tentacles ghosting over her cheeks. Hester stands, looking to the door and beginning to change. “I’ll be back right away, I promise. I’ve got to move while the Quiet Deviless is still gone.” 

Inkfish asks her what she’s doing as Hester dresses. She answers his question by tucking the wig on and sliding the contacts into her eyes, blinking at him through the yellow haze the coloured glass gives the world. 

“Do I look enough like her to pass at a distance?” She asks, blinking a few more times to get used to them. Inkfish’s answer is a troubled yes, but only at a distance. Any closer and they’ll see the parts of her that are nothing like the Quiet Deviless. “That’s fine. A distance is all I need. Just wait for me, I’ll return soon.” 

Hester slips out the door, stepping into the corridor. She moves briskly, not daring to run but not wanting to give anyone time to see her as anything more than just a passing shadow. Hester makes her way down the ornate stairway, passing occupied couples and bored security who barely look in her direction. No one stops her to ask what she thinks she’s doing and she makes sure to move with confidence, as if she belongs here utterly. 

With the blueprints fresh in her mind, Hester makes her way through the Embassy, out of the rooms and into the diplomatic areas. She breezes through rooms filled to the brim with intricate brass machinery and winds her way through the archives overflowing with contracts and ledgers. In each room, there are items just lying out in the open, the Devils so assured that no one would ever steal from them that they don’t even use a vault. Hester carefully takes what she knows will be missed, just enough not to be greedy but more than enough that the tallies will match up. She takes souls and nevercold brass silver, a handful of diamonds and a stack of those infernal contracts, until she has taken all she can safely carry. Only then does she make her way back upstairs, letting her walk be a little more hasty. This time people notice her, though only briefly and only in a way that they will recall later when questioned. 

Her heart is hammering in her chest when she reaches the Quiet Deviless’ rooms. Hester lets herself in, hoping that Cutthroat still has her occupied. Only Inkfish is inside and he gurbles at the sight of her arms full of goods, horrified and angry at Hester’s decision to rob the Brass Embassy now. 

“Shush, this is part of the plan.” Hester quickly locks the door behind her and heads over, tucking the items around the suite. She leaves the souls on the table and grabs a pen and paper from the desk, writing out a note. “We’re framing her as part of the robbery. When security enters, you tell them that the Deviless left with a woman and then came back in through the window. You tell them she came back with all those items and left through the window again and then came in the front door.”

Hester undresses and packs up the items and tucking them under her arm. Inkfish still hasn’t understood yet and he asks her to explain please, because he thought she was here to rescue him. 

“I am, sort of. If I take you now, she’ll know I took you. I’m the only one who would. She thinks I’m dead, and it needs to stay that way if we’re ever going to be safe. So I’m going to make it look like she robbed the Brass Embassy.” Hester gestures to the items around. She hates to leave him here, but she’s not lying; if he’s gone when the Deviless returns, she’ll be looking for Hester. But if she still thinks Hester’s dead, then she might think this was one last shot from beyond the grave. “Tell them about the fight and that you’ve been kept in here. The Brass Embassy usually wouldn’t care, but if they’re angry about the robbery, they’ll use you as a reason to punish her. They’ll send her to the Iron Republic for catching her with her hands in the kitty.” 

Inkfish is less than enthused about this plan and he lets her know. This is dangerous stuff, and who would believe that the Quiet Deviless of all people would go climbing out a window? She’s not a thief, or at least not that kind of thief. And she would have left through the front entrance where she would have been seen. If they have reports of her in two places at once, it won’t take long for them to guess that there’s been an imposter and that she’s being framed. This plan won’t work. 

“Well it’s the plan we’ve got, and I haven’t got anything better,” Hester says, her stomach dropping as she realizes that Inkfish is right. There are holes here that the Devils will seek out. Damnit, and damn the Deviless. “We haven’t got anything better.” 

They do, Inkfish insists. He points to the parcel under her arm, gesturing for her to put it in a nearby cupboard. Doesn’t it make more sense if the Deviless asked another to dress as her to get by security? Then the Quiet Deviless makes sure to leave the building so as to give herself an alibi if anyone does see her double so she can claim she is being framed. He tells her to take the items but leave a letter stating that she’ll get her cut in the mail. Inkfish will give it to security when they enter and tell them he stole this off the table. Then she should mail the items to the Deviless in a day’s time. 

It’s a better plan all around, and Hester is at once relieved and jealous that she didn’t think of it first. She gives Inkfish a quick kiss and sits down to draft the letter before grabbing the items. By the time she’s ready to leave, she’s loaded down. Hester will have to make sure she’s seen leaving by a few people, and then she’ll just have to wait. 

“When they free you, go wait in our suite if you can. If you can’t, come to the flophouse in Spite and hide yourself well, because they kill Rubbery Men there. I’ll be upstairs on the fourth floor, in the second room.” She perches in the window, not wanting to leave him. Hester wishes she could just free him and they could run. But this is her home and if anyone should run, it should be the Deviless. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.” 

He hoots his love back, and raises a tentacle as Hester closes the window and slips away. She barely needs to try to be seen with her heart feeling so low. Hester slips into the night and makes her way back to the flophouse. She’s a tangled mess of feelings, but the strongest among them is the quiet joy she feels knowing that he’s alive. No matter what happens from here on out, even if that thing is Inkfish choosing to leave, she’ll be glad to know he’s alive somewhere. 

The Cutthroat is already in the room when Hester arrives, running cold water over her arm. She’s got a peeved look on her face and she sends a scowl in Hester’s direction. “Those devils burn like hot irons. How can anyone stand them?” 

Hester thinks back to her own days with the Quiet Deviless and finds she can’t feel much about them anymore. She shrugs. “It’s a mystery. Here, I’ve got your payment, just let me count it out. I’ll need the room another day or two, but after that, I’ll be gone.” 

Cutthroat’s eyebrows shoot up as she sees the haul. “Did you have me distract her so you could rob her?”

“Not exactly, but close enough.” Hester divides it all in half, packing her half into a parcel and wrapping it up. She’ll post it in the morning and wait to hear from Inkfish. Hopefully it all goes well on his end. The rest she leaves out for Cutthroat. “Just be careful with those souls and contracts. You’ll want to get rid of those and turn them into something else as soon as possible. The rest will be next to impossible to trace.” 

“Wonderful. If you don’t mind, I’ll go get rid of them now before word gets around.” She trades her bonnet for one of the prisoner’s masks to hide her face. “I have a few friends to pay visits to, and pay some debts to as well. And I need something to take the heat out of these burns. It was nice working with you, Sneakthief.” 

“Likewise, Cutthroat.” They shake on it, and it’s almost a pity they’ll be parting ways. She’s done better than most, but Hester will sleep better when they’re out of each other’s lives. There’s no doubt in her mind that it goes likewise for the Cutthroat.

She waits for the Cutthroat to leave before lying on the bed. Normally after a heist this big, she stays up for hours, as jittery as if she’d been drinking nothing but darkdrop coffee. Instead, she feels exhausted and there’s a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. Hester looks over at the box of items she’ll have to mail and feels nothing but an anxious dread. She should be excited knowing for certain that Inkfish is alive and mostly well. But she can’t, not when part of her is still waiting for it to all go wrong.

Hester’s never had much luck when it comes to caring about people. Even before the Quiet Deviless broke her trust and took her soul, Hester had been hurt plenty of times. She let herself be suckered time and again, both here in London and up on the surface, where even now there is a child with her eyes being raised by strangers. It seems like things always fall apart on her, and this is no exception. 

The trouble is that she’s used to things falling apart, but not used to them coming back together. It wouldn’t surprise a part of her if Inkfish left in the night and never returned, the same part of her that cursed her for giving the Deviless her soul, the same part that had lead her away from the surface when there was nothing left for her there but crushing poverty. The possibility that it might actually work out in the end is one she hadn’t considered in New Newgate, and if she’s being honest, it terrifies her a little. 

Hester curls tighter against herself. She’s spent the past month doing her best not to hope for anything other than vengeance against the Deviless, keeping any love she had for Inkfish buried deep inside. Now she’s on the brink of getting it all and she just doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

She drifts off eventually but doesn’t sleep for long. Her body is restless and she wakes often, waiting for dawn. Hester arrives at the post office early and mails her parcel a few minutes after it opens. Then there’s nothing for her to do but wait.


	10. Chapter 10

Hester hears of the news before she sees Inkfish. The next two days are the slowest of her life and she keeps herself busy by thieving under a disguise or gambling at the tables hidden in various rooms. She sits in on a hand of cards with a few fops and a hardbody from the docks. He’s the one who lets it slip between hands, his deep voice finding it difficult to speak at anything other than a bellow. “The ol’ Republic dragged off another of theirs this week, a Deviless ‘n her suitcases. Didn’t get t’ hear much on account of the big boys surrounding her, but she kept ranting and a raving that it was a set-up.” 

“Did you catch who set her up?” Hester asks about as casually as she can, and when the fops start looking her way, she folds on what was a good hand. “This is too much for me.” 

“I knew it would be.” The first fop ups the pot and begins bickering with the second. Hester tunes them both out, focusing on the dockhand. 

“Nah, didn’t hear that.” He pauses to stick his little finger in his ear and twist it a few times, hunting for something that’s bugging him. The man doesn’t find it and he drops his hands to the table. “She did tell ‘em to kill the man that’d been in her room. Though it weren’t no regular man mind you. That Devil had a Rubbery Man with her. Seems like all sortas women are taking up with their kind these days.” 

“I’m sure we’d all have greater luck with women if our appendages were so very flexible.” The second Fop laughs at his own joke, but the other two clearly don’t see much humor in the idea of anyone taking up with a Rubbery Man. 

Hester begs her way out of the game on the next hand, claiming she needs to hold onto what little she still has. Cutthroat’s home with a guest and for a moment, Hester considers leaving a note on the door for her before dismissing it utterly. There are still some of her things in there, but nothing terribly valuable and certainly nothing sentimental. She can replace it all in a day once she has access to her guest suite. It would be polite to say goodbye to the Cutthroat, but she’s even less inclined to do that. Oh she’s been nice enough, considering that she planned on killing Hester originally, but she’s certainly no friend. Hester doesn’t need Cutthroat getting it into her mind to follow her and try her hand at blackmail. She can imagine that Hester was caught and banished or whatever her mind likes best. 

She knows what she told Inkfish about contacting her and she knows this is dangerous, but she makes her way to the Forgotten Quarter all the same, desperate to find him. There’s a hunt on tonight and Hester uses the commotion to her advantage to slip silently past the prey, the pursuers, and the Brass Embassy’s guards. She makes her way up the back of the building until she reaches her chambers. The window’s still locked, and as she taps on the glass to see if he’s simply out of sight . 

There’s a quick darting movement and Hester nearly falls, catching herself at the last second. It’s the lucky weasel, though he’s not been so lucky. He’s thin as a rail and lucky to even still be living. Hester taps at the glass as he scrabbles there, wondering what he’s been eating. She’ll find out soon enough. 

Inkfish isn’t in here, and so Hester hops over to the next window, peering inside. Inkfish is there and for a horrible moment, she thinks he’s been killed and his body left on the couch. She hammers at the window with her fist, breaking it open, and shoves her body through the shards. As soon as she’s inside, her fears are alleviated as Inkfish sits up and gargles out a frightened rush of words. It worked, but the staff left him here, saying they’d send housekeeping tomorrow to get rid of him and anything not worth keeping. He needs her to free him right now. Except as he’s saying that, he stops and worries about her bleeding.

Hester doesn’t care if she’s bleeding. She gets off the floor and comes to him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him against her. All she wants to do is kiss him, but they can’t waste time here. They need to leave and get to her suite now. Hester can make her way inside easily enough, but if they’re caught here, all the talking in the world won’t save them. 

She slips her lockpicking tools out of her skirts and kneels on the floor, going to work on his shackles. The lockpicks are cheap, but the chains were meant to hold a lover, not a prisoner, and they fall open soon enough. “Hurry, up we go.” 

Hester helps Inkfish up and he holds tight to her. He apologizes for being a burden and for being unstable on his feet. She just shushes him, moving faster. When she has a moment, she’ll have to come back and make this look like a robbery. For now, she just gets them to the door and peers out into the corridor to ensure they’re alone. They are. She gets them to the doors of her chamber and with Inkfish playing the lookout, she gets them open with a little luck and a lot of skill. 

Inkfish is dropped on the nearest couch, which has had a certain weasel eating the couch-cushion stuffing. She locks the door and finally has time to look at him clearly. His legs are a mess, raw from where the chains have dug in, and as she looks closer, she sees burn marks on his neck and face, the finger-shaped marks still fresh from the Quiet Deviless. She must have been furious when she realized what had happened and tried to kill him. “Just wait, I’ll... I’ll get some salve for the burns.” 

There’s a tin in her cabinet, along with all sorts of bandages. Hester remembers her arms and pauses to pick the small shards of glass out, wash them, and bandage them up. When she comes back, Inkfish is trying to keep at bay the rather hungry weasel who seems more than happy to have any kind of flesh, even the living kind. Hester catches him in a blanket and tosses him into the halls to go bother someone else. So much for owning a pet. 

She takes a seat beside Inkfish and gets to work patching his own wounds up. “What happened after I left?” 

He tells her that the Deviless returned home eventually and went to bed. The investigators arrived the next day and he gave them the note, just as they had planned. They didn’t do anything until the parcel arrived in the mail, and that’s when they came for the Quiet Deviless. She realized what had been done too late and attacked Inkfish. He says they can’t stay here, they need to leave as soon as they’re able-

She silences him with a kiss, gently cupping his face and avoiding the burns there. He trembles against her, arms tight around her waist. For the first time in weeks, Hester feels in control of things. “I’m here,” she assures him, resting her forehead against his. “Don’t you worry about where we go. I’ll take care of that, you know I will.” 

Inkfish kisses her as his response and Hester feels a twinge deep in her pelvis. Kissing him is nice but she wants more. Still, he’s hurt and she doesn’t want to ask for anything, especially when she knows he would say yes just to make her happy. 

“Why don’t you rest and we’ll talk more tomorrow?” Hester suggests, only to see a disappointed look in his eyes. She shouldn’t be surprised; after all, he’s been as eager to touch Hester as she’s been to touch him. “Or we could do something else before we rest.” 

His arms squeeze her tightly. He would very much like to do something else before then. Inkfish has missed her terribly. 

“I’ve missed you too.” Hester stands and pulls him to his feet. They strip one another, leaving a trail of overthings and underthings on their way to the bedroom. Inkfish looks worse than when she saw him last, a little too thin and all those new scars over her body. She knows she has her own scars and that prison hasn’t been kind either. Still, she feels no shame before him and he seems to feel the same with her, not hiding anything from her eyes. 

Hester straddles Inkfish on the bed, sliding a thigh between his. She can feel those flowers on either side of her, a slight wetness to them both. Hester remembers the patches sewn inside Inkfish’s trousers and with a cheeky grin, she begins to rub her thigh against them both. The reaction is as she hoped for, a surprise but clearly aroused burbling. “I wondered if you might like that.” 

Inkfish assures her that he does. He wraps one arm around her waist, the suckers pressing against her skin. The other reaches up to touch her breasts, curling around them both. He’s not so shy in the bedroom and Hester gives an appreciative moan as he rubs her nipples. It’s easy to rock her hips against the thigh between her own, the motion translating into gentle movement against Inkfish’s genitals. The liquid they ooze smears against her right thigh and Inkfish’s tentacles flutter against his face, softly singing like water in a glass. 

Her cunny is wet and she puts a hand between her thighs, rubbing her pearl as she rubs his. It’s good to be held and even better to bed him again. Hester didn’t dare dream of this in prison or out of it, but now she can thoroughly enjoy something that’s real and won’t be taken from her when she wakes. “I missed you dearly. I worried for you, more than I have for any of the others that came before.” Her hand strokes over the fin on his head and she rolls her hips. His flesh is so cool against her own, so refreshing. 

Hester feels something push against her fingers and she glances down, finding the blunt end of a tentacle there. It’s the end of his leg, curled around her left thigh, and it gently presses against her sensitive flesh. Inkfish asks her if she wouldn’t mind. She laughs and gladly withdraws her hands, moaning just a moment later as his limb rubs her cunny. 

Both her hands rest on either side of him and Hester leans forward, giving them both a little more room to maneuver with. His boneless leg curls around her own and the tip of it slides against the entrance to her cunt. Her cheeks are flaming red and Hester feels very shy as it begins to press inside her. “Oh my God, Inkfish, please.” 

He sings her an answer, begging her to keep moving her thigh against his. Hester does, rubbing against the leaking petals. Her movement helps her sink onto the tentacle, feeling it slide in and fill her. It’s larger than the small tentacles on his face, but not so large that it’s uncomfortable. His arm holds her up and the other just squeezes her breasts, holding them both within his grip. It’s as if he has four arms instead of two arms and two legs. The tentacle inside her cunny twists and she feels a loop rub against her pearl, the sucker catching it and tugging it just right. 

They busy themselves in bed, each pushing or rubbing against the other. Hester has always prided herself on being quiet in bed, but there’s no way to stop the sounds coming out of her right now. She moans and mutters and grunts in the most unladylike manner possibly, barely able to think with the tentacle deep inside of her. Inkfish is much the same, whistling softly below her. Hester looks him in the face, watching it strain as hers must be doing and she feels her heart swell. “Inkfish, I missed you. I missed you so much.” 

Inkfish says the same and though she hears the gurgle from him grow higher, it’s Hester who comes first, charging straight off a cliff and shaking hard as the pleasure seizes her body. She goes stiff and the only reason she doesn’t fall is that he’s holding her upright, arms around her body, leg deep in her cunt. If he were an ordinary man with a fist inside her, she’d worry that he might break a bone from how hard her cunny’s squeezing, but Inkfish is fine and he carefully turns them so Hester’s back lies on the bed and he’s above her, his tentacle sliding out of her with a wet popping sound. 

His thighs are clamped tight around hers and he rocks against her, pealing higher and higher. She’s dazed and her body is sluggish, but she responds to his sounds, grabbing hold of his waist and pressing her hips up to meet his, her leg slick with the liquid. He finally slows with a whistling noise and rests his head on her breasts, his hips moving much slower, grinding out the end of his pleasure. Inkfish rests his weight on her and she welcomes it. He’s not very heavy and her arms easily wrap around him, squeezing him tight. 

They lie there for some time, until her sweat’s cooled on her skin and his leavings on her thigh are stiff. Only when she glances down does she see a thin red shell up and down her upper leg. “Oh damnit, I hope that comes off of skin easily.” 

Inkfish glances down and untangled himself from her, hooting frantic apologies. He forgot himself while they were- and he says a word that has him blushing green. Must mean fucking. Hester sits up and runs a few fingers over the smooth surface.It feels a little like amber, but more pliable. He’s still apologizing when he leaves the bedroom. Hester gets to her feet, feeling the cooling amber pull at her skin, and pulls on her dressing robe and follows him out.

It takes the better part of half an hour and some hot water to warm it enough to pull it from her skin without ripping anything. Inkfish is embarrassed by Hester can’t help laughing. “I’d rather do this than sit alone in a prison cell.” 

He tells her he’d rather she not do either, the tips of his arms rolling the amber up. Beneath it, the other liquids have jellified and are easily scraped off. Her skin is slightly irritated from the whole experience and he runs her a bath. Hester happily washes herself clean and invites Inkfish in as well, though he insists on behaving like a gentleman. 

When that’s done, he makes tea and Hester lounges on a couch, looking around the room. The Brass Embassy is lovely, but she’s had enough of it. “Where should we live?” she calls out to Inkfish, sitting up, “the Royal Bethlehem or a premises at the Bazaar? The Bethlehem is lovely and perhaps even more luxurious than here, though we’ll have to be sure to lock our doors. On the other hand, the Bazaar isn’t nearly as nice, but you could use the shop below as part of your amber trade if you’d like.” 

Inkfish brings her over a cup. He says that she should pick, since she’s the one who’ll be doing most of the earning. The money he makes from the amber trade isn’t enough to afford either of those. 

“You’ll be living with me, so we may as well go where both our needs our served.” Hester holds the tea in the palm of her hand, staring down into the dark brown liquid. Her own face stares back at her, determined and a little worried. She asks what part of her has been worrying for a while: “Unless you’d rather leave London altogether and go back to Flute Street. You’d be safer there than with me, less chance of anyone trying to hang or kill you.” 

There’s no hesitation from Inkfish as he says no. He has no interest in returning to Flute Street or in leaving her. Inkfish is aware of the dangers of staying here and staying with her, and he doesn’t care. He loves her, and he says this a few times, so she has time to understand the words. 

Hester puts her tea aside and puts her arms around his shoulders, kissing him. She feels like a great dam has burst deep inside of her. It’s not until he wipes her eyes that she realizes she was starting to cry. “Good,” she says, holding him tight, “My Inkfish, my Inkheart, I love you too.” 

He puts his arms around her waist and draws her into his lap, holding her until she falls into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Two weeks at the Tomb Colonies to repair her reputation. Three months of stealing Bazaar permits from careless barristers. A week to clean up the shop and get it ready and one extra day to move their things into the chambers above it. 

She strings the key to their premises on a leather cord and hangs it around his neck. In return, he gives her a lovely choker to cover the scar around her neck: dark pearls and glowing amber sewn into white lace. It’s too lovely to take thieving, but she’ll wear it whenever she’s not, just as he’ll wear the key inside his shirt unless he’s with her. 

Things are never easy. Hester ends up in the tomb colonies dozens of times and dead thrice more than that. Inkfish does visit Flute Street for work, but he’s always only too relieved to return to their premises in London. They both run afoul of rumors that make it difficult to trade and ruin a few old friendships, though not any worth keeping. And of course, they never marry officially, since their union is never regarded as anything other than unwholesome by most of London’s residents. But neither of them regret it. 

Their love may be of a secret kind, but Hester’s fine with that. She’s always loved secrets.


End file.
